Duplicity
by Evie McFarland
Summary: "A sane person to an insane society must appear insane." There's something wrong with Reid, and it's up to Hotch to stop him before things get out of hand. Sequel to "Tricked Again," but it can stand alone.
1. Chapter 1

_*SEQUEL to Tricked Again. Possible character death.*_

_**PS: Possible character death doesn't mean I've decided to kill anyone, it just means I'm not sure of the end of the story yet.**_

Morgan drummed his fingers on the table, looking out the window at the darkening sky. It had been a long day; but for reasons unknown, he just couldn't fall asleep. He glanced across the table at Hotch; his boss had his nose buried in paperwork, and it didn't look like he was up for a conversation. Exceedingly bored and growing restless, Morgan got to his feet and walked across the jet to where Reid was sitting alone, scribbling furiously in some notebook.

"Working on the fourth doctorate?" Morgan asked teasingly, sliding into the seat across from the young doctor.

Reid didn't answer; he looked like he was concentrating very hard. Morgan glanced around the plane; everyone else had fallen asleep. Letting out a long sigh of irritation, he attempted to talk to Reid again.

"What are you writing?" he asked.

Reid held up a finger and continued scribbling away. Morgan leaned forward, his curiosity aroused.

"Hey!" The book snapped shut and Reid's exclamation woke JJ, who was fast asleep on the couch opposite. She gave the pair of them a resentful look before returning her head to the pillow.

Morgan snickered, amused at the reaction he had incited. "Writing in your diary?" he teased.

Reid stuck his tongue out at his older colleague.

"Classy," Morgan commented.

Reid gave a disinterested shrug and pulled out a book.

"'On the Genealogy of Morality,'" Morgan read, "Looks like fun."

Reid frowned at him over the top of the book. "Can I help you with something?" he asked.

Morgan raised his hands defensively. "Wow, touchy."

Reid sighed, closing the book. "Sorry," he said, "I've been a bit tired lately."

Morgan frowned. "Nightmares again?"

Reid shook his head. "No. I've just been busy."

Morgan raised his eyebrows. "Busy with what?"

Reid laughed. "Like I'm going to tell _you."_

Morgan raised his eyebrows. "And why wouldn't you tell me?"

Reid gave him a condescending look, as if he should already know the answer. Then he returned to the book.

Morgan frowned. "Alright, then," he muttered. When Reid didn't respond, Morgan decided to change the subject. "Some case, huh?"

Reid nodded vaguely. "It was fun," he said.

Morgan's eyebrows shot up into the air. "Fun? A psychopath cutting up women and leaving their body parts inside libraries is _fun_ to you?"

Reid shifted in his seat, his eyes still on the book. "I liked solving his puzzles."

Morgan rolled his eyes. Of course; Reid hadn't had to do any field work. He had been sitting inside the office the entire time, decoding the messages the unsub had left for the police.

"I never understand why they do that," Morgan said, "I mean, why give us clues?"

"Because they get bored," Reid muttered, turning a page. "If they get away with it for long enough, it just isn't fun anymore."

Morgan laughed. "Well, thank god for boredom, then," he said.

Reid didn't respond.

Morgan sighed. Reid was hardly being a better conversationalist than Hotch. Annoyed, he took out his earphones and put them in, turning up the volume and closing his eyes. He tried to steady his breathing and let the slow, rhythmic beats lull him to sleep.

Morgan opened his eyes some time later; he wasn't sure how long he had been asleep, but he assumed it had been a fair amount of time because of the terrible pain in his neck. He also noticed that Reid was writing in the book again. He squinted at the book, not moving a muscle so as not to alert Reid; but the younger man's handwriting was so messy that he couldn't distinguish the words.

Morgan let out a loud yawn, and Reid immediately returned the notebook to his backpack. "We almost there?" he asked Reid.

Reid shrugged.

"For someone who's tired, you sure didn't get a lot of sleep," Morgan commented.

"I don't sleep much anymore," Reid muttered. "Excuse me." He got to his feet; taking his bag with him; and headed towards the coffee machine.

"Of course you don't, you drink fourteen cups of coffee a day," Morgan muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

When the plane landed, Reid was the first to get off; he was gone before anyone else had even woken up. Morgan caught up to him just as he was walking across the parking lot.

"Hey man, you need a ride home?" he asked.

"Nope," Reid said, speeding up.

Morgan frowned, then jogged in front of Reid to stop him in his tracks. "You're not taking the subway, are you? It's two in the morning."

"Good night, Morgan." Reid pushed past him, and began walked briskly across the lot. He stared wordlessly after the young doctor as he heard Hotch coming up behind him.

Morgan turned around. "Hey, do you think something's going on with him?" he asked his boss.

Hotch shrugged. "He's been through a lot," he muttered.

"Yeah, but he's been acting all defensive and secretive lately, and—"

"As long as it isn't affecting his job, it's none of our concern," Hotch said. With that, he brushed past the younger agent and started towards his car, leaving Morgan standing there, bewildered and alone.

_*Thanks for reading! So….what do you think so far? REVIEWS PLEASE*_


	2. Chapter 2

_*Thanks to reviewers, as always, and thanks for reading! I hope everyone likes this chapter!*_

Hotch fumbled with his keys, struggling to keep his eyes open as he emitted a loud yawn.

"Wake up," he muttered to himself. He shoved the keys in the ignition, blinking rapidly. Jack had been having nightmares lately; which meant he'd gotten a total of two hours of sleep last night.

He pulled out of the driveway, reaching across the seat to take a large swig of coffee; he choked, spluttering, when he realized he had forgotten sugar. This caused him to spill the rest of the coffee into his lap. As he reached across to the glove compartment for napkins, he was forced to swerve wildly across the road to avoid killing his neighbor's cat.

By the time he got into work, Hotch was in a very bad mood.

"Hey, boss," Morgan said as he walked in, giving him an easy grin. He looked him up and down. "What happened to your pants?"

Hotch gave him an exasperated look. "Coffee," he said shortly, his clipped tone making it apparent that he was not in the mood to discuss it. He hurried up the stairs into his office, hoping by that the time he reemerged his pants would have completely dried.

Unfortunately, luck was not on his side. JJ entered the office a mere five minutes after he had sat down. "Sir," she said, "We have a case in Oklahoma. It's urgent."

He sighed. "Get everyone in the conference room," he muttered.

Hotch was the first one to sit down; JJ came in next, then Prentiss and Morgan entered, with Rossi not far behind. Hotch peered out into the bullpen.

"Where is Reid?" he asked, a slightly nostalgic feeling of alarm rising in his chest.

"I just talked to him," Morgan said, "He's running late. He didn't want anyone to worry." Morgan smirked.

"Well, we'll start without him. We can fill him in on the plane," Hotch said, although for some reason he still felt anxious.

JJ nodded. "The Jewles family," she began, "Mark Jewles, Nancy Jewles, and three children; Jordan, Evan, and Kyle. The parents and two of the boys were found dead this morning; each with a .22 caliber gunshot wound to the head. Kyle Jewles is currently missing."

"The neighbors see anything?" Morgan asked.

"They lived in the middle of the woods; the nearest neighbors were a mile and a half away. They were found by Nancy Jewles' sister, who came by to drive the boys to school."

They all turned around as they heard the door creak open; Reid froze when everyone turned to look at him, as if he had been hoping to sneak in without being caught.

"Sorry, I overslept," Reid said hurriedly; his hair and clothes were disheveled, his tie hanging askew. His eyes, however, were bright and excited; not as if he had just woken up, but as if he had been awake for hours.

"Sit down, we'll talk later," Hotch said. Reid nodded hurriedly and sat down beside Morgan.

After JJ had finished debriefing everyone, they hurried onto the jet and were in the air twenty minutes later. After they had finished discussing the case, Hotch walked over to where Reid was sitting; he was writing in some notebook, and Hotch assumed he was working on the profile.

"Hey," Hotch said, sliding in across from him; the notebook was slammed shut, and Reid met his gaze eagerly—with eyes a little bit too intense for his liking. Hotch had been planning to reprimand Reid for his lateness; instead, he asked, "How much caffeine have you had today?"

Reid let out a long, uneasy laugh. "A fair amount," he admitted, his eyes shifting nervously.

A faint thought crept into the back of Hotch's mind—a suspicion about his young colleague that would slip into his consciousness from time to time. For the past few months—ever since Reid had returned to the job—he had been unable to find anything to ratify it, yet there was nothing to refute it, either. Like always, Hotch violently dismissed the notion, forcing it to the back of his brain. He decided simply that he had been working at this job far too long—his mind had been warped by it, changed irrevocably so that he didn't trust anyone anymore.

"Hotch?" Reid prompted.

Hotch blinked. "Hmm?"

"You looked worried," Reid said, "That's all."

Hotch shook himself. "I am worried," he said, "We have a missing nine-year-old boy."

"Well, yes," Reid said hurriedly, "Of course."

There was a brief, strained silence before Hotch excused himself, making his way towards the bathroom simply for something to do.

_You're losing it, Hotch, _he thought to himself, _Get it together._ He splashed cold water on his face and returned to his seat.

They were on the jet again later that night. The case, had not ended successfully, but it had ended abruptly; an hour after they had arrived at the police station, the fifty-eight year old unsub had turned himself in, crying hysterically, insisting, "Frank Sinatra made me do it!" They had found Kyle Jewles' body in the man's basement, his head bashed in; his body covered with a blanket.

All in all, Hotch decided, it had been a very bad day. To make matters worse, Morgan and JJ had greedily taken up both of the available couches; and Rossi and Prentiss were sitting at one of the tables, which meant that the only seat left for Hotch was opposite Spencer Reid.

He sat down with a sigh. Reid wasn't reading, like he normally was; he was staring out the window, his foot bouncing up and down anxiously. Hotch took out some paperwork and put his head down, hoping that he could forget about the younger agent.

Reid didn't take the hint. "Rough day, huh?" he commented, a half smile forming on his face. Hotch nodded, disinterested.

Reid drummed his fingers on the table. "How long until we land?" he asked suddenly.

Hotch sighed, glancing up. "I don't know, Reid. Probably the same amount of time it took on the way here."

Reid shook his heads. "No, it will take longer. Last time it took three hours and twenty-one minutes. But if you factor in turbulence due to wind speeds as high as sixty miles per hour, as well as night flying conditions, I would estimate that it will take about four hours and six minutes for us to fly back. Approximately." He folded his hands on the table.

Hotch stared at him. "Well if you know all that, then why the hell did you ask me?" he demanded, irritated.

Reid looked offended. "I was trying to be conversational," he said, "Also, I was hoping for a second opinion."

Hotch sighed. "Why is it so important to you, anyways?"

Reid shrugged. "Well, I just want to get back." His foot accelerated it's bouncing.

Hotch raised his eyebrows. "We've been gone for less than a day. What are you in such a hurry to get back to?"

Reid didn't say anything. "I just want to get back," he repeated stubbornly, turning again towards the window. Hotch took that as the end of their conversation and returned to his paperwork.

Hotch dismissed everybody early; it was only five o'clock, but he figured that his team needed a break. Therefore, it was only himself; and, typically, _Reid, _who stayed behind. Hotch remained in his office until ten o'clock; he had run out of paperwork to do, but was desperate to avoid even the smallest confrontation with his young coworker; for reasons that he either couldn't or simply didn't want to explain. Finally, Reid turned out the light at his desk and exited the building. Hotch waited several minutes and then followed; he wanted to get home to see Jack.

Hotch was irritated beyond belief to find Reid still in the parking lot; his and Reid's cars being one of the few cars remaining in the lot.

_That's strange,_ he remarked to himself, _he usually takes the subway._ Hotch waited until Reid had gotten in his car and was driving away before he started towards his own car; he gave his coworker a half-hearted wave as he drove away, trying desperately to dispel the feelings of anxiety that the young man was apparently causing. They were inexplicable; _causeless, _he thought to himself. And yet, they were there.

Hotch's eyes followed Reid's car out of the parking lot; he wasn't even sure if he had even _seen _the car before. Hell, he hadn't even known that Reid _had _a car. He slid into his own driver's seat just as Reid turned out of the parking lot; that was when he realized it.

Reid was going the wrong way.

Hotch frowned, repeating the map of the city in his head. Yep, there was no doubt about it; that was _not _the way to Reid's apartment. Where was he going at ten o'clock at night?

Hotch made the decision before he was consciously aware of it; he turned on his engine, turned off his headlights, and silently peeled out of the parking lot behind Reid.

_Just to prove yourself wrong, Hotch, _he muttered. _Just to prove that everything is fine. Just so that you can go home and sleep._

Hotch gritted his teeth, anxiety and anticipation pooling up inside his veins. He wasn't going to ignore this anymore. He knew that his suspicions were paranoid, unwarranted; _ridiculous._

And yet, he followed.

_*And so the plot thickens (whatever the hell that means.) Thank-you for reading, I hope you are enjoying it so far! Leave a review if you're nice! ; )*_


	3. Chapter 3

The night was dark; Hotch accelerated quickly, watching Reid's car fading away in the distance.

_Don't lose him,_ he thought to himself. Now that he had resolved to follow, he knew that he could never rest until he found where Reid was going.

They drove for a long time; Hotch always kept his headlights off, keeping Reid's car a vague speck in the distance. Eventually, Reid exited the highway; Hotch followed. His exhaustion had faded completely; he began to feel something familiar, some strange hint of excitement or anxiety; but he couldn't place it.

_Where was he going? _They had been driving for nearly a half hour now. His energy began to wane; yet still, he followed. He was going to find out what Reid was doing. Nothing else mattered right now.

It was at this point that he was able to put a name to the feeling he was experiencing—it was the thrill of the chase. He frowned, slightly disconcerted. That was the strangest thing to be feeling right now.

Finally, Reid's car turned and pulled into a parking lot. Excited, Hotch, flicked his lights onto the lowest setting and peered into the distance; a sign was posted in front of the parking lot.

_St. Justine Public Library._

Hotch simultaneously felt relief, embarrassment, and the faintest shred of disappointment. He chuckled to himself; _Reid_ was going to a _library_. It seemed as if there couldn't have possibly been a more natural thing in the world. It would have almost been _more _suspicious if he had just been going straight home.

He vowed to himself to take this experience to the grave. He then began to wonder if he was developing some type of paranoid personality disorder.

That was when his phone rang. Absentmindedly, he reached into his pocket, assuming it was Jessica asking where the hell he was.

"Hotchner," he answered, searching for a place to turn around.

"Hotch, why are you following me?"

Hotch froze, his hands on the steering wheel. He was approaching the library parking lot—Reid's car was the only one parked there. It also looked as if the library was closed.

"Hotch?" Reid's voice prompted.

Hotch swallowed. Then he sighed. He turned into the library parking lot and parked his car next to Reid's.

The young man was sitting with his seat pushed all the way back, his feet up on the steering wheel, leaning against the headrest with the phone balanced lazily alongside his ear. When he saw Hotch pulling up next to him, he gave him a playful, mocking smile.

Hotch rolled down his window. Reid did the same. They sat there in silence for a moment; Hotch thought of a plethora of things he wanted to say; but in the end, only one bubbled to the surface.

"I'm worried about you."

The grin slid off Reid's face like a mask being peeled away; what replaced it was a sort of calm, defensive ferocity; the only thing that remained the same was the mocking.

Then Reid said, "The feeling is mutual."

Hotch felt a kind of tangled frustration; how could he possibly accuse Reid of the things he was thinking? He couldn't. When he finally spoke, all he managed was, "I'm a profiler."

Reid didn't miss a beat. "So am I," he replied.

They sat there in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Hotch choked out, "There's been something wrong about you ever since you came back."

Reid just stared at him. He neither confirmed nor denied it. Instead, he said, "Maybe there was something wrong with me before." A pause. "Maybe there's something wrong with you."

Hotch didn't respond. He didn't know how.

"Hotch?" Reid said suddenly.

Hotch swallowed. "What?"

"I quit." There was no hesitation, no rashness, no anger in his voice; just calm certainty. Hotch barely had time to register a shocked expression before the window closed and the car backed out, silently. Hotch didn't follow him. He was frozen.

He had no idea what had just happened. Maybe Reid was the only one who truly knew. He tried to force his scrambled thoughts into a logical answer—but he couldn't.

Unless…

Hotch banished the thought immediately. He picked up the phone and dialed Reid's number—had he even heard him correctly? But the boy's phone went straight to voicemail.

He didn't know what to do. So, he called Morgan.

Morgan sounded very irritated. "Please, Hotch, don't tell me we have another case," he moaned groggily.

Hotch opened his mouth; but nothing came out.

"Hotch?" All traces of sleepiness were gone; they were now replaced with alarm. "Hotch, are you there? Is everything alright?"

Hotch swallowed. "Reid just quit," he said, the words sounding strange and alien.

There was a confused silence that lasted a full five seconds. Finally, Morgan spoke. "What?"

The words came out in a rush; Hotch couldn't recall ever speaking this way before. "He wasn't going the right direction home. So I followed him here. To a library. But it's closed. I still don't know where he was really going. I don't think he went home last night. He was wearing the same clothes as yesterday. I drove in beside him. He told me he was quitting and drove away." Hotch paused for breath, before exclaiming, suddenly, "Did you know that Tucker Davies and Diana Reid both overdosed on Nembutal?" After revealing this, he felt the strangest lightness ever and an odd desire to laugh.

He could hear the buzzing of confused silence on the other end of the phone. Finally, Morgan said, "Hotch, where are you now?"

Hotch cleared his throat. "I—uh, I'm at the Justina Hope Public Library thing, or something like that. It doesn't matter, anyways—"

"Maybe I should come and get you," Morgan said, "You don't sound like yourself."

"Well, I—" Hotch broke off, irritated, "Of course I don't! Don't you understand what's happening, Morgan?"

There was another buzzing silence, before Morgan said, "No. I don't." A pause. "Do you?"

Hotch suddenly and inexplicably felt very tired. "You're right, Morgan," he said, "I'll deal with Reid in the morning."

"But, I—"

"No," Hotch said, his voice regaining its usual, commanding tone, "I'm sure he's just upset about something. We'll see him tomorrow. Goodnight, Morgan."

His coworker sounded just as confused as he felt. "Well…goodnight, then, Hotch."

Hotch closed his phone. He stared at it for a moment.

He pulled out of St. Justine's Public Library and drove home.


	4. Chapter 4

_*Sorry it took way longer than usual for me to update. I've been really busy (although aren't we all?) and/or might have dropped my laptop down the stairs. Anyways, I'm sorry this chapter is so short but I'll be updating much more frequently soon because I'm on vacation now (yay.) Thanks for reading!*_

Emily Prentiss yawned loudly, glancing at the clock. It read 5:37; she smiled briefly. Her internal alarm clock had woken her just in time.

That was when she realized that she was lying upside down; it was not 5:37, as she had originally thought, but rather 7:35. She was supposed to be at work in 25 minutes.

Groaning, she got to her feet and nearly tripped over her cat, Sergio, who let out a hiss of protest. Mumbling apologies to her cat whilst groping around in the dark for her socks, Prentiss finally managed to be out the door in seventeen minutes flat. She was at the BAU ten minutes later; only two minutes late and rather proud of herself.

However, she stopped short when she noticed that she was the only one in the bullpen; where were Reid and Morgan? Rossi appeared to be in his office, but Hotch's door was closed. Frowning, she sat down at her desk and started on her paperwork. Several minutes later, Morgan emerged from Hotch's office. She raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth to greet him.

"Hotch is calling a meeting," Morgan said.

She yawned. "Good morning to you, too," she said jokingly. "Do we have a case?"

Morgan didn't return her smile. "No," he said shortly, and turned and walked into the conference room. Prentiss blinked slowly, yawned again, and started towards the conference room.

They were soon joined by JJ, Garcia, and Rossi.

"Where's Reid?" JJ wanted to know.

Morgan said let out a sigh. Then he said, "Reid quit."

There was a pause. Then…

"When?"

"Why?"

"What happened?"

"Where's Hotch?"

Morgan put up his hands to stop the flurry of questions. "Hotch is in his office," he said, "And Reid told him he was quitting last night."

There was pause as everyone mulled this information over. "Did he say why?" Garcia asked eventually.

Morgan shook his head.

"How do you even know he was serious?" Prentiss asked, the entire situation feeling like some sort of practical joke. She glanced towards the doorway, half-expecting Reid to burst through the door with a coffee cup in hand.

Morgan held his arms out. "Do you see him here?"

"Well, no," she admitted, "But it's only 8:15. He might just be—"

"There's something else," Morgan said, "Reid mailed Strauss his resignation two days ago. She received it this morning."

There was another silence. "Why wouldn't he tell any of us he was leaving?" Garcia asked.

"He was so excited to come back to work," JJ said, "Why would he quit in the first place?"

"I don't know," Morgan replied, "But since we don't have a case, I think it would be better for us to just keep on working." He then started for the door.

"What's wrong with Aaron?" Rossi asked suddenly.

Morgan whipped around. "What?"

"I mean, why are_ you _running this meeting? Where is he?" Rossi asked. Morgan cleared his throat nervously.

"He's busy," he said shortly, and exited the door.

The four of them just stared at each other in shocked silence. Eventually, Rossi spoke.

"What the hell?"

"What aren't they telling us?" Prentiss asked, staring after Morgan.

"What do you mean?" Garcia asked, her voice rising slightly in alarm, "Why would Derek hide anything?"

"Or Hotch, for that matter," JJ muttered, staring out into the hallway.

Morgan ran his hands over his head, anxiety pooling in his stomach. He reopened Hotch's door; his boss was staring at his computer screen, motionless, and didn't look up when Morgan entered.

"Sir?" Morgan prompted. Hotch started, then narrowed his eyes at him.

"Did you tell them?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

Hotch nodded, then returned to his computer screen. Morgan scooted around to glance at what his boss was doing; but then he noticed that the screen was completely black.

"Hotch," Morgan said eventually, "I think you should talk to the team. Everyone's a bit confused."

"Did you tell them to continue work as usual?"

Morgan nodded. "Yes, but Hotch—"

"Then I don't need to talk to anyone. Leave me alone, Morgan, I'm very busy."

Morgan raised his eyebrows. "You don't _look _busy."

Hotch fixed him with such a stare that Morgan had no choice but to retreat, raising his hands defensively and backing out of the office. After he closed the door, Morgan saw his boss return his gaze to the dark computer screen.

Morgan reached into his pocket and dialed the same number he had been dialing since late last night; however, like usual, the young doctor didn't answer.

"This is Dr. Spencer Reid. I appreciate your call, but unfortunately cannot come to the phone. Please leave an informational voicemail message and I will return your call at my earliest convenience."

Morgan sighed. "Reid, this is Morgan. What the hell is going on? If you're in some kind of trouble, the team can help. Anyways, call me back, man. We're worried about you, and I think there's something wrong with Hotch."

Morgan sighed, staring despondently at his phone. He really hoped that this would all be over soon. They had enough to worry about.

Suddenly, he was almost smacked in the face by the door as Hotch flew out of his office.

"Where are you going?" Morgan demanded. Everyone in the bullpen was staring at them.

"Nowhere! Just keep working!" Hotch said breathlessly.

"But, sir—" Morgan broke off as his boss disappeared down the hallway and out the door. Morgan stood there for a moment, unsure whether or not he should follow.

Finally he returned to his desk, shaking his head. Maybe he should let Hotch and Reid figure their problems on their own—for now, he had paperwork to do.


	5. Chapter 5

_*Thanks for reading! And I hope everyone has a happy Thanksgiving!*_

The stairs seemed to get in the way as Hotch stumbled down towards the parking lot; other employees were casting him strange looks. He sprinted out of the building, leapt into his car, and drove away at a pace that was well above the speed limit. He had only one thought on his mind; _I'm too late._

He turned a corner; he felt a familiar rush, like the kind he had felt when he was racing to save Reid from Christopher Buchannan. Now, he needed to save Reid from himself.

He knew he was too late before he got to the apartment. And yet, he continued as if it wasn't; as if there were some sort of chance that Reid would still be there.

He bolted up the stairs, pushing past a disgruntled mother and her young child; he stopped in front of Reid's apartment, panting heavily. He fumbled in his pocket for the key; but when he put his hand on the doorknob, he realized that it was already open.

Carefully, hesitantly, he opened the door. He half-expected to see Reid sitting on the couch, reading a book; even though he knew that this notion was impossible.

The apartment was empty. He checked the bedroom and the kitchen—just to be sure. He returned to the living room and noticed that all of the books were gone from the bookshelves; someone had taken them.

Everything else was left as usual; the bed was unmade, clothes lying on the floor, even the milk had been left out. If not for the books or the unlocked door, Hotch would have almost expected Reid to still be living here.

That was when he saw it; there was a letter lying on the table. The envelope read, _Hotch._

Anxiously, Hotch grabbed the letter and ripped it open. He had written five lines.

_Hotch,_

_I knew that you would come here looking for me after our discussion last night._

_I wanted to let you know that I appreciate your interest in the situation, but I am all set to resolve it._

_Your interference in the resolution of the situation would not be appreciated._

_I will not be returning to my apartment for some time. I have no more interest in working for the FBI._

Hotch flipped the letter over, looking for more; but that was all he had written. He ransacked the apartment; that couldn't be all he was leaving for him?

But it was.

His phone started ringing. He fumbled hurriedly with it, expecting it to be Morgan asking him where the hell he had gone.

It was Strauss.

He sighed. "Hello?" he asked, thinking that this was probably the last person on earth he wanted to talk with right now.

"Hello, Agent Hotchner. Dr. Reid sent me his resignation last night, as you are aware, but he has failed to turn in his badge and gun."

Hotch felt his blood slowly and congealing in his veins.

"I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding, but could you please talk to Dr. Reid and tell him to turn them in to me immediately?"

Hotch cleared his throat, trying not to make his voice sound hoarse. "Of course. I'll talk to him," he said.

"Good," she replied, and the phone snapped shut.

Hotch sighed and dialed Reid's number; he knew it was useless, and that Reid wouldn't answer; but he had to do his job, after all.

That was when he heard a ringing in his apartment. Frowning, he walked over to Reid's bedroom, then started digging through the bed; the phone was buried in the covers, as Reid had been sleeping with it.

Either Reid had forgotten to bring his cell phone, or he didn't want to be tracked.

His gun and badge were nowhere to be seen. Hotch would have expected to find them with the letter.

Meanwhile, Morgan was sitting at his desk, reading the same line over and over. He had finished all of his paperwork; for once, this seemed like a curse instead of a blessing. He couldn't stop thinking of Hotch's face, staring blankly at the computer—him telling his team that Reid had left, and the looks on their faces—Reid sitting across from him on the plane, scribbling in a notebook…

"Morgan!"

Morgan started, glancing around nervously. It was JJ.

"We have a case," she said. "Is Hotch here?"

Morgan shook his head. "He left," he said.

"Call him, then get in here."

Obediently, Morgan took out his phone and dialed his boss' number. The line was busy.

"He's not answering, JJ," Morgan said, as he joined the rest of the team in the conference room.

JJ let out a sigh. She looked extremely irritated. "Fine," she snapped, "We'll start without him."

She put a picture up on the board. "This is St. Elizabeth's Sanitarium. It's located in Virginia. Around three o'clock this morning, the fire alarm went off and all of the lights went out. When the nurses tried to evacuate, they found that all of the doors had been locked. They started hearing gunshots, and so everyone went for cover. About ten minutes later, the lights came back on and the fire alarm stopped. They found that the doors were unlocked again, and three of the patients had been shot in the head."

They all stared.

"No one saw _anything?"_ Prentiss asked incredulously.

"Do they have a visitor list?" Morgan demanded.

"I interviewed the nurses. They don't allow visitors at three in the morning," JJ replied.

"The fire alarm and locked doors would create a diversion," Rossi said, speaking for the first time, "The nurses would be so terrified that they were all going to burn to death that they would never have noticed anything suspicious."

"But if the doors were locked, how did the unsub get in?" Morgan asked.

"He must have already been in the building," Prentiss remarked. "Maybe through a window?"

"Security systems in these kinds of hospitals are focused on keeping patients from getting out; not for keeping others from getting in," Rossi said.

"It wouldn't have been too difficult to sneak in, then," Prentiss said, "There were only two nurses on duty. And some sanitariums systems that lock all of the doors for emergency situations, to keep patients from running into the streets. The unsub must have known that, and used it to his advantage."

Morgan glanced down as his cell phone started buzzing; Hotch was calling him back.

"Yeah, Hotch?" he asked, covering his other ear and leaving the room so as not to disrupt the discussion.

"Morgan, Reid left his cell phone here. And he hasn't turned in his gun and badge. I need to talk to you about something."

"Later, man," Morgan said, "We've got a case in Virginia."

He heard a long sigh from Hotch. "What is it?"

"Three patients from a 'St. Elizabeth's Sanitarium.' Shot in the head in the middle of the night. We think that the unsub used the lock systems and fire alarms as a diversionary tactic."

Hotch didn't say anything.

"Hello?" Morgan asked, glancing down at the phone to see if he'd hung up accidentally. He hadn't. "Hotch? You there?"

His boss' voice sounded very weak. "We're too late, Morgan," he whispered.

Morgan sighed. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Our…our interference in the situation would not be appreciated."

"Hotch!" Morgan snapped, "What the hell is wrong with you? I know you're upset about Reid; I am too; but you've got to keep it together!"

There was another long silence. "Right," Hotch's voice sounded anxious, agitated, "You're right, Morgan, of course. Tell the team I'm on my way."

The line went dead. Morgan pocketed the phone, shaking his head, then returned to his team in the conference room.

It was going to be a long day.


	6. Chapter 6

_*Happy black Friday, everybody! I hope you enjoy this chapter.*_

Hotch could feel his hand shaking, still staring at the phone.

_Keep it together._

He swallowed nervously, then took a deep breath. His team needed him. He intended to help them. That was all.

Mechanically, he pocketed Reid's letter, then his phone, then left the apartment. He walked down the stairs and got into his car.

_Don't panic. _

He buckled his seatbelt and drove off slowly, forcing himself to keep in control. After several minutes of this, the person behind him started honking angrily.

_Alright, just go a little bit faster, then._ He pressed down on the gas a little more firmly, frightened that he would suddenly lose control and started driving like a madman down the streets.

Finally, he made it to the BAU. His team members were already preparing to get on the jet.

"Where were you?" JJ asked him, her eyebrows raised.

Hotch paused for a moment. "Reid's apartment," he said eventually. "He wasn't there."

JJ nodded sadly, casting her eyes to the ground, and stepped into the plane. Hotch followed her quickly, sitting down opposite her.

"Hotch, we'll debrief you here," JJ said.

Hotch swallowed. "Morgan already told me," he said.

"Right," JJ said, "So, what's your opinion?"

Hotch had to clear his throat several times so that his voice would not come out as a squeak. _You're the team leader. You're supposed to have an opinion, remember?_

"Well," he began, "The unsub is obviously organized and highly intelligent."

They all nodded.

"He used fire alarm systems and locked doors as a diversionary tactic. This suggests that he knew how these kinds systems worked, and he knew how to gain access to them. This suggests an intimate knowledge of electrical and mechanical systems."

"So are we looking for an engineer?" Prentiss asked.

"Possibly," Hotch said. _Or someone who's smart enough to figure out any system with or without being an engineer._

"What about motive?" JJ questioned him.

Hotch was enormously relieved when Prentiss answered for him. "Well, there isn't much to gain from killing mental patients. And they weren't tortured, just shot in the head from behind. They wouldn't have seen the bullet coming." With these words, JJ passed the crime scene photos over to Hotch. Hotch forced himself to look at them without seeing them.

"This suggests a certain amount of remorse," she said, "And according to the nurses, it was these three patients who had the least likelihood of ever being released." She passed Hotch other pictures; _normal _pictures; of two men and a woman.

"Marcy Chaplin," JJ said, "Her temporal was damaged in a car accident. She couldn't speak or understand speech, and there were reports that she suffered from auditory and visual hallucinations. She had to be put in maximum security for violence against others." JJ paused. "Three suicide attempts."

Hotch gazed sadly at the picture of the happy young woman; before her accident, he supposed.

"This is Clyde Rogers," she said; it was a picture of a man in his late fifties or early sixties. He was gazing distrustfully at the camera. "He had dementia. According to the nurses, it started when he was only forty-eight. His family was afraid to visit him. He attempted to commit suicide, as well, in early March last year. He jumped out his window, and sustained severe injuries which then inhibited his ability to walk."

Hotch nodded, frowning at the picture. "Who's the third?"

"Trevor Ryan, twenty-three. He had childhood-onset schizophrenia."

"That's rare," Morgan commented.

"He tried to kill his mother when he was nine because he thought she was trying to 'cook' him." JJ grimaced. "Anyways, he's been in the hospital since then. Eight suicide attempts."

"_Eight?" _Hotch asked. JJ nodded.

"All of these victims have tried to commit suicide before," Prentiss said. "So the unsub is just…"

"Giving them what they wanted," Morgan finished. There was a tense silence.

They landed ten minutes later; since the case was in outer Virginia, it was a relatively short flight.

As they were walking in, Hotch spoke to Morgan. "The unsub knew who he was going to kill before he came in here. He must have gotten hospital records somehow."

"Right," Morgan said. The two of them approached the front desk.

"Hello," Hotch said, showing her his badge unnecessarily. The nurse sitting there looked pale and frightened. "Is there anyone here who has access to the patient's medical files?"

"A…all of them?" she stammered.

"That's right," Hotch said.

She licked her lips nervously. "Me," she said, "I'm the only one."

"Alright," Hotch said, "Have you ever given anyone access to these files?"

"That's illegal," she said.

"You aren't in any trouble here," Morgan said, "Are you sure there isn't anyone you let look at these files?"

The nurse swallowed nervously. "Well, I thought I had to," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"Why?" Hotch demanded, although he already knew the answer.

"Because," she sniffed, "Because he was an FBI agent, you see."

"When was this?" Hotch felt Morgan stiffen beside him. "What did he look like?"

She burst into tears. "He said it was classified," she spluttered, not answering his question, "He said it was classified and very important. I thought I _had _to."

"Alright, ma'am, no one is blaming you for this," Morgan said. "When did you talk to this man?"

She wiped at her eyes. "It was two…no, maybe three…two, three weeks ago? I don't remember."

"What did he look like?" Hotch asked. He swallowed again.

"He was…oh, I don't know." She sniffed again. "He was very thin. He was wearing sunglasses. I couldn't see his eyes."

Hotch nodded eagerly, his heart pounding in his chest. "And what color was his hair?" he asked.

"It was…" she trailed off. "Black? No, it wasn't black. Brown? Maybe brown or blond?"

"What was he wearing?" Hotch demanded.

"Oh, like...just what you'd expect an FBI agent to be wearing. Like you, I suppose." She gestured to Hotch.

Hotch frowned. "Oh," he muttered, surprised. "Alright then. Thank you."

"I'm sorry," she said suddenly, "I didn't know. He had a badge and everything. How could I have known…?"

"You didn't see his name, by any chance?" Hotch asked sharply.

She shook her head, her eyes wide. "I would've told you if I did. He just flashed it really quick, and even so, I can't remember…."

"It's alright, ma'am," Morgan said, "We'll be right back." Morgan started to walk away; he wondered why Hotch was still standing there, staring at the lady.

"Hotch," Morgan muttered, "Come on."

Hotch's hand reached out and grabbed Morgan's shoulder, vice-like. Morgan let out a cry of protest and tried to yank his arm away. "What the hell are you doing, Hotch?"

Hotch pulled him out of the lobby, into a side room. "Come on," he said, "I need to talk to you."


	7. Chapter 7

_*I've decided that there will be character death. It won't necessarily be Reid but it will happen. If you don't like it, don't read it and such. I don't want to upset anyone. To everyone else, thank-you for reading!*_

"Hotch, what is going on with you?" Morgan demanded as his boss pulled him into a different room. The unit chief looked flushed, agitated.

"I…I have something important to tell you," Hotch said. "You're going to think I'm crazy, Morgan, but…" he trailed off. He didn't sound like himself; more like a scared kid confessing a terrible secret.

Morgan nodded slowly. "Alright, Hotch," he said, "What is it?"

Hotch swallowed. "It's just, I…" he began, but trailed off again. "I think that…" he bit his lip.

"Hotch, what the hell is going on?" Morgan demanded. He had never seen his boss act like this before, and it frightened him.

Hotch opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. He fixed Morgan with a piercing stare.

"I think Reid is the unsub."

Morgan just stared at him numbly, quite sure that Hotch had lost his ability to speak properly and had started babbling nonsense.

"I know you don't believe me yet, but if you'll just hear me out, I—"

"Hotch." Morgan interrupted, simply to put a stop to him. "What the hell." It was not an accusation or a question; just an expression of blatant confusion.

"I _know _Morgan, but just listen to me. I can't ignore it anymore. You remember his mother dying, eight months ago? He didn't seem all that upset about it, did he?"

Morgan just stared.

"She overdosed on a drug called Nembutal. And do you remember Tucker?"

Morgan continued staring.

"He overdosed on the same drug two months ago. Both in mental hospitals, right? And now—now he's just quitting for no reason, and these murders here, and the man who talked to that nurse was an FBI agent who looked like Reid, so—"

"Stop." Morgan forced himself to speak the word, and Hotch broke off, looking at him desperately for some sort of reassurance. "Just stop it, Hotch." For some reason he couldn't explain Morgan felt immeasurably violated; the world had ceased to make sense.

"You do _see, _though, don't you Morgan?" Hotch demanded.

Morgan felt himself shaking despite his best efforts. "Hotch, what the hell is wrong with you?" There was no anger in his voice, just a desperate, frightened, plea. Hotch wasn't supposed to do this; Hotch _couldn't _be doing this.

Hotch couldn't be crazy.

"With _me?_" Hotch looked confused. "There's nothing wrong with _me!_ Were you even listening?"

Morgan just shook his head. He backed away. "I have to…" he trailed off, then turned and walked rapidly away from his unit chief.

Hotch stared after him, surprised and very irritated. "Idiot," he muttered, then decided he was being too harsh. It made sense that Morgan was in denial; he had been, at first, as well. He'd give the younger profiler some time to think it over; he'd see it eventually.

Hotch returned to his team. "Prentiss, Rossi," he called, and the two agents walked over. "Did you examine the crime scene?" he asked.

Rossi nodded. "Just like we thought. No prints on anything, no bullets left behind, no nothing. This guy is smart."

_Smarter than you'd ever believe, _Hotch thought to himself.

"And the murders took place in three totally different wings, the third one even on a different floor. So this guy obviously chose his victims very specifically."

"Well, we already knew that," Prentiss added. She glanced at her watch. "Is there anywhere we can go for lunch? I haven't eaten since yesterday."

Hotch nodded. "Get everyone outside in five minutes and we'll head back towards the police station."

The team assembled out front and headed towards the police vans. Hotch got into a car with Prentiss and started the engine.

"Hey, Hotch?" Prentiss asked, after several minutes of driving.

"Hmm?"

"What did you do to Morgan?"

Hotch shrugged. "Nothing in particular. Why?"

"I don't know. He's acting like someone just killed his dog."

Hotch snorted. "Maybe someone _did _just kill his dog," he suggested, trying to shift the attention away from himself.

"No, I mean—ever since that talk with him. I saw you pull him into the other room." Hotch stiffened. "What did you say to him?"

Hotch shrugged. "We're all just upset about Reid, I suppose," he said stiffly.

"Oh, he'll be back," Prentiss said.

Hotch raised his eyebrows. "What makes you so sure?"

"Well, I mean—it's _Reid. _He's obsessedwith his job. He wouldn't work for a year to get reinstated, then quit after two months."

Hotch nodded. "I suppose you're right," he said lightly.

"And, I mean—whatever's upsetting him, he'll get over it. He'll be back." She nodded. "Did he say why he was leaving? To you, I mean?"

Hotch stiffened. "No."

He could feel her eyes on him. "Any theories?"

Hotch kept his voice level. "You guess is as good as mine," he replied evenly. He needed Morgan on his side before he could try to tell the rest of his team about his "theory."

"Hmm," Prentiss said, then turned towards the window. They spent the rest of the car ride in silence.

Morgan was deep in thought, his entire body feeling numb. Was Reid's leaving really what had triggered his boss' break from reality? He'd made it through Haley's murder smoothly enough. He'd been stabbed and divorced and had his family threatened and gone face to face with serial killers and now….

Had his boss really snapped?

"MORGAN! YOU'RE GOING OFF THE ROAD!"

"Agh!" Morgan swerved away from the guardrail and back onto the highway. JJ stared at him from the seat opposite with wide, fearful eyes.

"Morgan, do you need me to drive?"

Morgan shook his head.

"So you're not going to kill us?"

Morgan rolled his eyes. "I've got it under control."

"Doesn't seem like it." Morgan glanced at JJ; she was taking deep, calming breaths, clutching the armrest.

Morgan sighed. "Hey, I'm sorry," he said.

She swallowed anxiously. "It's okay," she said, "What did Hotch say to you, by the way?"

Morgan stared straight ahead, not responding; she didn't need her vision of their boss shattered as well.

"Morgan? Hello?"

"Hmm, what?" he asked casually, as if he hadn't been listening.

"What did Hotch say to you?" She raised her eyebrows.

"Oh, nothing much. Just talking about the case." That part was true enough, at least.

"Yeah, right." JJ said. "You know I'm a profiler now, Morgan, but even if I wasn't I would be able to tell you were lying."

Morgan chuckled. "Just…something about Reid. Hotch thinks something is going on, that's all."

"Really? Is everything alright?" JJ demanded, her voice tense.

Morgan sighed; he shouldn't have said anything. "Yeah, JJ, it's fine."

"But-"

"Cut it out, JJ, I need to focus on driving," Morgan muttered. He felt slightly guilty for the rudeness; but he didn't want to talk about it.

To his surprise, she laughed. "Well that much is true, at least."

Hotch stared at himself in the mirror; he looked paler than usual. He sighed and began to undo his tie; Morgan hadn't spoken to him all day, and they had made absolutely no progress on the case; not that this was a surprise.

Suddenly, his phone started ringing. He sighed and glanced at it; unknown number. Thinking it might be one of the officers, he answered it.

"Hotchner."

"I told you that your interference would not be appreciated."

Hotch blinked, then glanced at the phone. "Reid?" He knew it was Reid; but the voice sounded distorted, alien.

"If this happens again, there will be a punishment. This is a warning."

"Reid, wait, can't we just—"

The line went dead. Hotch stared at the phone at first in astonishment, then anger.

Then he called Morgan.


	8. Chapter 8

Morgan sighed, taking another sip of beer; he didn't want to think about Hotch right now. He didn't want to think about Reid right now. He didn't want to think about the case, either. He didn't want to think about _anything._

He turned on sport center; Clooney hopped up on the couch beside him. He let out a sigh, leaning back, closing his eyes, and listened to the newscasters' meaningless babbling…

His phone started buzzing. He let out a moan and glanced at the caller ID.

It was Hotch.

"Goddamnit," he muttered. He considered ignoring it; but then realized he would be in dereliction of his duty if he ignored a call from his supervisor. He sighed again, then flipped it open.

"This is Morgan."

"Morgan, you have to listen." Hotch's voice came to him rapidly; his supervisor was breathing heavily, and sounded rushed and agitated. "I just got a call from Reid."

Morgan sat up straight. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. He's mad at us. He said he's giving us a 'warning.'"

Morgan frowned. "What? What is he mad about?"

"That we're investigating the case, obviously! He specifically asked me not to!"

Morgan sank back into his chair. "Right," he muttered.

"What do you mean, 'right?'" Hotch demanded.

Morgan sighed. "How do you know it was even Reid?"

"Because…" Hotch trailed off. "Well, because it _was, _Morgan!"

Morgan rolled his eyes. "Did you have Garcia trace the number?"

He heard Hotch laughing sarcastically from the other end. "Of course not. Reid would be too smart to let himself be tracked. He must know we're looking for him by now. At least, he knows _I'm _looking for him."

There was a ringing silence as Hotch apparently waited for an answer. Morgan didn't say anything.

"Hello?" Hotch sounded even more irritated than before.

"Maybe you should get a good night's sleep, Hotch," Morgan said patronizingly, "Think it over. You'll feel better in the morning."

"Feel better…?" Morgan didn't think Hotch had sounded more offended in his entire life. "Fine, Morgan," his boss snapped. "Believe what you want. When people turn up dead, we'll see if you change your mind. I just expected more from you. That's all."

The line went dead. Morgan stared at it for several moments, then sighed and lay back down on the couch, his head resting on Clooney.

"Things are messed up, buddy," Morgan muttered, rubbing his dog's stomach.

Morgan didn't remember falling asleep; but the next thing he knew his phone was ringing with a call from JJ. He glanced at the time; it was 5:30 in the morning. He moaned and sat up, answering groggily.

"Hullo?"

"Morgan," JJ said; her voice sounded small and uncertain.

He blinked sleep from his eyes. "Wassup, JJ?"

"There have been…s-some more murders," she said. "Four more, actually."

"Another hospital?" Morgan asked, groping for his shirt in the dark.

"Two were," she said.

"And the other two?" Morgan prompted.

"They…I mean, Morgan, m…maybe you should just come into work, before I tell you."

Morgan froze, Hotch's words running through his mind. "What happened, JJ? Is the team okay?" His mind flashed through the various faces of his coworkers, his heart accelerating.

"The team's fine," JJ said, "But…" She stopped.

"Well, what the hell is it? Did Hotch talk to you?" Morgan asked.

"Yes," she said carefully. "He talked to all of us."

Morgan gritted his teeth. "And you believed him?" he demanded. That was just like Hotch; making the rest of the team as paranoid as he was.

"W…well," she stammered, "Not at first. It all seemed so…unlikely. Impossible. But, I mean, it's so obvious now…there really isn't another explanation…"

Morgan gritted his teeth. "Are you kidding me?" he demanded. "Reid quits and then all of the sudden he's a serial killer? Come on!"

"Morgan," JJ said, trying to interrupt.

"I mean, I seriously thought you people were smarter than this. Do you honestly think that someone like _Reid _is capable of—"

"Morgan!" JJ shouted again, cutting him off. "One of the people who were killed was William Reid!"

Morgan stared at the phone in dumbstruck astonishment. "W…what?" He sat back down on the couch, his head whirling.

He could hear JJ sigh from the other end of the phone. "I didn't want to tell you like this," she said. "I wanted to wait until—"

"Who was the other person?" Morgan demanded, sensing there was something missing. There had to be another explanation.

There was a pause. "I really think you should come in before—"

"JJ! Goddamnit, tell me _now."_

There was another pause; JJ was obviously deliberating. Finally, she spoke.

"The other person killed was Jason Gideon."

Hotch took a long swig of coffee; he had thought he would feel better, having the rest of the team in this with him; but he just felt even more exhausted than before. It was not as if the weight had been lifted off of him, and onto them; but as if for every one of them who suffered, the weight on his own shoulders doubled.

He glanced over at JJ, who was on the phone with Morgan—he had told her to call him. She kept twirling her hair anxiously around her fingers; that was a nervous habit of hers; and by this point it was knotted and twisted, sticking up in all different directions.

He surveyed the rest of his team; Prentiss was staring ahead blankly, as looking for answers in the chair in front of her; Garcia sat opposite her. Hotch had ordered her to start a geographical profile for the two hospitals that had been targeted; one in Virginia, one in Nevada; but she was just staring blankly at the computer screen. Even Rossi looked disturbed; he kept his eyes fixed on JJ.

"No, Morgan, I know you're coming. Don't worry. I…I'll tell him. Okay. Bye." She snapped the phone shut. "Morgan apologizes," she said to Hotch; she almost sounded bitter.

"Right," Hotch muttered. Despite how angry he had been with Morgan earlier, the apology didn't give him nearly as much satisfaction as he'd thought it would. "Garcia, how…how is the geographic profile going?"

Garcia burst into tears and ran out of the room.

"Not well, apparently," Rossi said, in a kind of dazed sarcasm.

"I'd…I'd better go after her," JJ muttered, and followed her friend out the door.

Hotch was left alone with Rossi and Prentiss, neither of whom looked in the mood for a conversation. Hotch excused himself, heading towards his office.

He sat down and rested his head against the chair. He closed his eyes; he hadn't slept all night, not since he'd gotten the call informing him of the second massacre in the hospital. Then had come the call about William Reid; then the one about Gideon…

As if on cue, his phone started ringing. He sighed, glancing at it; it was an unknown number.

He flipped the phone open. "Hotchner," he muttered.

"Hey, Hotch!"

Hotch froze; he didn't say anything. It occurred to him that he should go get Garcia; but then he remembered that she was probably in tears, in the bathroom, that there wasn't enough time, and that Reid wouldn't allow himself to be tracked, anyways.

"Hotch? Are you ignoring me now?" Reid sounded personally offended.

Hotch cleared his throat. "What happened?" he asked, "I thought you were just giving me a warning."

He heard laughter from the other end; it was incredibly innocent and frightening at the same time. "That _was _your warning," Reid said gleefully.

"You sound like you were happy to do it," Hotch spat bitterly.

"Happy? Well yes, I suppose I was. You don't sound so happy, though."

Hotch closed his eyes, hardly believing who he was talking to. "I don't condone the taking of innocent lives," he said.

"And neither do I." Reid's voice had become very solemn.

"We aren't going to stop working the case," Hotch replied.

"Oh!" Reid sounded devastated; like a child who just watched his pet dog get run over. "Don't say that, Hotch! Please!"

Hotch gritted his teeth. "You aren't going to get away with this," he said.

Reid's voice became serious again. "And neither will you," he said sadly. "I don't condone the taking of innocent lives, Hotch—but we all do what we must do."

"I suppose we do," Hotch said coolly.

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line; then the young man spoke. "I'm sorry about how things turned out, Hotch—I really am. No matter what happens next, you should know that I'm sorry. I don't regret it—I'm just terribly sorry."

"Wait, Reid," Hotch said, "We can talk about this. We can end this now. We can…" But then he glanced at his phone and noticed that the call had ended.

Hotch put his head down on the table, his head in his arms. He wanted to stay like this forever, he wanted to quit, he wanted to leave the country or the planet and never have to make another decision, to never be responsible for anything ever again…

It was at that point that Strauss decided to poke her head into the office.

"Agent Hotchner," she hissed, "Can I talk to you?"

Hotch stared at her, surprised. "I thought that JJ already informed you of the situation."

She pursed her lips. "In my office," she hissed. "Now."

Hotch got to his feet and followed the section leader out of the room, a sense of foreboding building up in the pit of his stomach.

Once they were in his office, Strauss turned on him.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" she demanded.

Hotch frowned at her, very confused. "Aaron Hotchner?" he responded innocently, raising his eyebrows.

She rolled her eyes. "Adorable," she hissed sarcastically. "Agent Hotchner, how could you possibly expect me to let your team work this case?"

Hotch frowned. "With all due respect, ma'am…"

"Don't give me that," she snapped, "The team is way too personally close to this case. I would be in violation of a plethora of regulations which—"

"Ma'am," Hotch interrupted, "We are a group of highly trained psychological profilers who have all _worked _with the person that we are supposed to be profiling. Do you really think you could find a group of people more equipped for the job?"

She gritted her teeth. "Your tech analyst girl is in tears—"

"That has nothing to do with it," Hotch snapped. "You _know _that we will track down Spencer Reid faster than any other team you could possibly put together—with minimum loss of life. Why else do you think he doesn't want us working his case? Because he knows that we're the only ones who will be able to find him."

Strauss fixed him with a gaze of desperation. "But Agent Hotchner," she said imploringly, "Just think of how it will _look."_

Hotch gave her a look of disgust. "I don't know," he said slowly, "Why don't you try asking the families of those who were killed? Of those who _will _be killed if you take us off this case?"

She gazed at him desperately; her anger had evaporated into a kind of weak, pleading terror. Hotch knew who was in charge now.

"We're taking the case, Agent Strauss," he said. He turned to leave.

"But you passed him!" Her voice came to him as he was leaving the door. "You cleared him for duty! He passed his psych evaluation because of _you!"_ Hotch turned to look at her, recognizing this as a last, pitiful attempt to shift the blame to him.

"Dr. Reid wrote the psychological evaluation," he said simply. And then he exited the office.


	9. Chapter 9

_*Sorry I haven't updated in awhile. This chapter is extra long to make up for it. Thanks for reading!*_

"It doesn't make any sense."

Hotch glanced at Rossi, irritated; the older profiler had interrupted him. "What do you mean, it doesn't make any sense?" Hotch snapped.

"Well," Rossi said, "He attacked the mental patients because he felt bad for them. I mean, that does show morality; twisted morality, sure, but he's still following a set of morals. But Gideon and his father—it deviates from his typical MO. It doesn't make any sense."

Hotch frowned, thinking it over. "It was revenge," he said slowly.

"But Reid started out killing those he felt pity for; it morphed into the murder of those he felt anger for. Since when does mercy-killing evolve into a revenge fantasy?" Rossi folded his arms. "It's two completely different MO's."

Hotch frowned, stumped, then glanced around at the rest of his team, wishing they could be a bit more helpful. Prentiss had barely said more than ten words in the hour they had been sitting there, discussing; JJ had only just returned from comforting Garcia, and was still doing nothing but furiously twist her hair in her fingers. Morgan had said nothing; he just listened with a kind of frustrated, angry intensity, his eyes darting from Hotch to Rossi every few moments.

"He _says _it was a warning, but he wouldn't kill his father and Gideon to _warn_ us. It would have taken much less than that, and he knows it." Hotch sighed.

"Devolution?" Rossi proposed.

Hotch shook his head. "He's completely in control. If anything, I'd say he's evolving."

There was a silence.

"Morgan? Prentiss? Anything to add?" Hotch prompted.

Prentiss shook her head slowly. Morgan didn't move.

"JJ?" Hotch asked.

She gave Hotch a weird, half-smile and shook her head slightly

"Alright, listen," Hotch said, "I told Strauss that this team would catch Reid faster than any other team she could assign the case. By 'this team,' I did _not _mean me and Dave while the rest of you sit there like dazed convalescents. I understand how hard this is—believe me, nobody knows better than me!" He broke off, then glanced at Rossi for support. The older man gave him a small nod. "But we have to pull it together. We have to find him. For his sake. For our sake. For _everyone's _sake." He looked around imploringly.

Prentiss was the first one to speak. "He's right," she said, looking directly at Morgan. Then she turned her gaze towards Hotch. "It's a lot to take in."

"Believe me," Hotch said, "I know."

"But what the hell are we supposed to do?" demanded Morgan, speaking for the first time. "He could be anywhere by now. If he follows pattern, more people die tonight. And we have no idea where he could go. We only have two points. That isn't enough for a geographic profile. And even if it were, Reid knows geographic profiling inside and out. "

Hotch's mouth was a grim line. "We have to wait until he attacks again," he muttered. "Meanwhile, I need to send some of you to Las Vegas, to take a look at the crime scenes. The rest of us will wait here. Once we find out where he's attacked, we can set up roadblocks to trap him."

"I'll go," Morgan said. "I'll go to Vegas."

"Me too," Prentiss volunteered.

"Alright," Hotch muttered. "Rossi—why don't you go, too? Three crime scenes is a lot to go over. JJ and I will stay here."

Rossi nodded and stood. "Wheels up in five," he said.

Morgan ordinarily tried to sleep on jet rides, when there was nothing else to do—he was always feeling overtired. But this time, sleep wouldn't come—every time he closed his eyes, he saw the face of his former friend, his mouth folded into a mocking smile; and he felt a strange feeling of horror, numbness, and anger.

He let out a sigh; he needed to stay calm. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back; against his will, a memory came flying at him.

"_Happy All Hallows Eve, folks! It's a paraphrase from Celtic mythology! Tomorrow night, all order is suspended, and the barriers between the natural and supernatural are temporarily removed…!" Reid was wearing a childlike smile as he waved a Halloween prop around in Morgan's face._

Morgan gritted his teeth. "Don't think about it," he muttered aloud. Before he could stop it, however, another memory came flying at him.

"_Villain," Reid was saying._

"_What?" Morgan asked, confused._

"_In movies, unsubs are called villains."_

_Morgan rolled his eyes. "My bad."_

"_You wanna know why horror movies are so successful?"_

_Morgan really didn't. But still, he asked, "Why's that, genius?"_

"_They prey on our instinctual need to survive. In tribal days, a woman's scream would signify danger and the men would return to protect their pack. That's why it's always the women and not the men who fall victim to the boogeyman."_

"_You can count on you, Reid, to always break a movie down to science."_

_Reid's easygoing smile was flashed in his direction._

The next thing Morgan knew, he was on his feet, having just thrown his case file at the opposite wall. Rossi and Prentiss were staring at him blankly; as if they understood, were not surprised, and had nothing to offer as help.

It was a long day. The crime scene at the hospital was exactly like that of the first one; except this time, there were only two victims, shot execution style. Both of the victims who were killed had tried to commit suicide; and one of the nurses grudgingly admitted to giving an "FBI Agent" access to the patient's medical files.

The next crime scene that they went to was that of William Reid.

"He was sitting on the couch," the sheriff told him. "Whoever killed him must've forced him inside with a gun; looks like he was shot in the stomach, first—" The sheriff pointed to a dark red spot in the abdomen of the mutilated body. "Looks like he tried to get up, so the killer shot him in the leg; he falls back here, onto the floor, like sideways; killer shoots him in the face, he falls back against the couch again."

Morgan was trying very hard not to picture the whole thing; and failing miserably.

"Shooting in the face suggests rage. Three shots is overkill. That suggests a close personal relationship, but," Rossi chuckled grimly, "We already knew that, of course."

Morgan turned and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Prentiss asked.

"Come on," Morgan muttered. "There's nothing we can learn from this. We already fucking know who the killer is."

"Morgan," Rossi hissed, "Cut it out." A small group of crime scene technicians were looking at him disapprovingly.

"Excuse me, sir, but we'd all appreciate it if you'd be professional," the middle one said.

Morgan had a sudden desire to dart forward and throttle the offending technician. Instead, he took a deep breath, turned to Rossi, and said, "We already know the relationship he had with his father. We're just wasting time."

Rossi looked like he was about to protest, but then nodded slowly. "We'll stop by Gideon's," he said eventually, "Then head back."

Gideon had been murdered in a hotel.

"When did he check in?" Morgan asked the lady at the desk.

"The night before the incident," the lady said clinically, typing away at her computer. "He was only staying for two days. I talked with him, actually. He said he was meeting a friend. Nice man," she said as an afterthought, then continued to type.

"Reid must have called Gideon," Morgan said to Rossi, pushing his way into the hotel room, "Told him he wanted to meet up, to reconnect, or—oh." He stopped suddenly when he saw the body.

Rossi and Prentiss were silent as well, staring as if in tribute at the body of their former colleague; the former colleague who had once been a brilliant man. With all that had been going on, Morgan hadn't thought about how seeing Gideon's body would affect him; he hadn't seen the man in years, and the whole thing had felt very detached; almost unreal.

But now, he felt kind of sick.

"H…he was shot in the stomach, once," Prentiss said; her voice was very unsteady. "His cell phone was gone and the phone lines were cut, and there was duct tape over his mouth…so he couldn't call for help. The coroner estimates that he lay here for about…t-two hours before he died of blood loss."

There was a beat of silence.

"That's just sadistic," Rossi muttered, his voice a mixture of grief and disgust.

Morgan turned abruptly and exited the apartment; he couldn't bear to look at Gideon's body anymore. Prentiss and Rossi followed not long after.

Hotch didn't want to fall asleep; he didn't think he would be able to, anyways, what with all that was going on. But his body had other ideas, and he hadn't slept in over 24 hours. When he lay down on the couch, it was 7:30; when he woke up again, it was 1:30, and his phone was ringing.

Hotch groped for it in the darkness, knowing that it might be important.

"This is Hotch," he mumbled into the receiver.

"Agent Hotchner?" A panicked female voice called from the FBI.

"That's me, what's the problem?"

"You—you asked us to contact you if there were any further murders in hospitals?"

Hotch sat up immediately; he was wide awake. "Where?" he demanded.

"Annapolis, Maryland."

"How many dead?"

"Seven."

"_Seven?"_

"Seven," the woman repeated.

"We'll be right down. I'm bring my team. I'm—" he broke off. "How long ago was this?"

"Approximately forty-five minutes, Agent Hotchner."

Hotch moaned. "Why didn't you call sooner? Did you set up road blocks?"

"Well, not yet, Agent Hotchner—"

"What? But he's gotten away by now!"

"Well you see, Agent Hotchner, the hospital people only just called my people, because, you see, all of the phone lines had been cut, and then my people had to figure out how to get in touch with your people, and—"

"Just set up the road blocks anyways, and we'll be down there shortly," Hotch snapped, hanging up the phone. He immediately dialed Morgan's number.

Morgan answered after the first ring. "What is it, Hotch?"

"Another attack, forty-five minutes ago. Annapolis, Maryland. We'll meet you three down there." He hung up and started towards JJ's office; but she was nowhere in sight. It was at this point that he remembered that it was 1:30 in the morning.

"Hello?" JJ answered. She sounded fearful.

"JJ, there's been another attack. We need to—"

"Hotch? Henry…Henry isn't feeling well. Is it okay if I…stay home?"

Hotch frowned. "Well, don't you want to—" he broke off. "Alright, JJ," he muttered, figuring that the younger woman was probably intentionally avoiding further crime scenes. "You don't really need to come. We'll probably be back late tomorrow. I hope Henry feels better."

"Bye, Hotch," JJ said.

Hotch found Garcia asleep in her chair. He shook her shoulder gently. "Garcia, we had another attack. I need you awake for after we get there."

She mumbled something incoherent and reached for her glasses; Hotch was already out the door.

"It's the same. It's all the same. Not evolution, no devolution. It's just as careful and meticulous as the rest of the attacks."

Hotch crossed his arms, frustrated and exhausted; they had been at the hospital all day, and were getting absolutely nowhere.

"I hate to say it, Hotch," Rossi said, "But we're going to have to wait for another attack."

The mood at the sheriff's department was not a positive one. Prentiss and Morgan were interviewing witnesses in the hospital; Hotch and Rossi sat in a conference room, attempting to make a geographic profile and trying to ignore the fact that they were hopeless at it without Reid.

It was at this point that Hotch's phone started ringing. He glanced at it.

Unknown number.

"Get Garcia on the phone," he said to Rossi. He let it ring twice more before he answered.

"This is Agent Hotchner."

"H…Hotch?"

Hotch swallowed, and gave Rossi a small nod. "Hello, Reid."

"Hotch, I….I couldn't finish."

Hotch frowned. "What do you mean?"

The voice sounded drastically different than the Reid he had spoken to several days earlier; this was panicked, horrified. "You _made _me do it, Hotch. You _made _me. Why'd you have to make me?"

"I haven't made you do anything, Reid," Hotch said sharply.

"You did, I warned you, but you came anyways, you tried to stop me, and I warned, and, I…" He broke off. "And I couldn't _finish, _Hotch. It was no fun at _all. _It was _horrible."_

"Reid," Hotch said, "What are you talking about? Where are you now?"

"I…I'm sorry," Reid said, "I couldn't finish." The line went dead.

Rossi was shaking his head. "She couldn't track it, Hotch. It was a disposable cell phone."

Hotch sat up. "Garcia?"

"Yes, sir?" she asked.

"Call JJ."

There was a pause. "Why?"

"Call her. Right now!"

"Al…alright, sir, I'm calling her…" There was a pause. "Sir, she isn't answering."

"Call Will!"

There was another silence. "He isn't answering, either, Hotch." There was an edge of panic to her voice.

"Get police and ambulances over to her house, _now," _he demanded.

"Yes, sir, I'm doing it, right now, I'm calling them!" Garcia's voice had escalated into hysteria.

Hotch glanced at Rossi, fear and panic and guilt congealing in his throat and preventing him from saying the one thing they were both thinking—that they were already too late.

_*Thank-you for reading, review please!*_


	10. Chapter 10

_*Many thanks to anyone who reviewed! Sorry I haven't updated in awhile. I hope everyone likes this chapter. It's from another chapter that was super long, so I cut it into two.*_

"Are they on their way?" Hotch demanded furiously, taking the final steps to board the jet. He pulled the phone away from his mouth to call to the other team members. "Morgan! Hurry up! Everyone else is on the plane!"

"Yes, sir, they're on their way," Garcia said from the other end of the line, her voice trembling. "I c-called them immediately—"

"Call me back as soon as you get any news," Hotch snapped. He turned around. "MORGAN!"

"I'm coming," his colleague hurried up the stairs. "Look, Hotch," Morgan said hesitantly, "I know it _feels _like we should just drop everything and leave, but—"

"We're going back," Hotch snapped, leaving little room for argument. "This is the next crime scene. This is where he is."

Morgan held up his hands. "Alright, fair enough," he said, as the plane began to take off. "But Hotch, we don't _know_ if he's there, and we're already—"

"Oh, he's there," Hotch snapped. "And he's not getting away, this time." He had told Garcia to set up roadblocks.

The team sat in silence for fifteen minutes, waiting for a phone call. Eventually, Hotch got impatient and called Garcia.

"Any news?" Hotch demanded.

"No, sir," Garcia said; it sounded like she was desperately trying to keep her voice from quavering.

Hotch hung up.

Another fifteen minutes passed.

"Damnit, Garcia," Hotch said, when he called her again.

"I—I called the hospital, but no one has checked in yet; they sent an ambulance down there but no news yet, sir—I—I'm heading there myself now, sir—"

"Call me when you get there," Hotch snapped, irritated at the lack of response.

The intensity in the room was tangible. Another twenty minutes passed.

"It only takes ten minutes to drive to the fucking house," Hotch spat, furious. Rossi and Prentiss just stared at him; they had been silent the entire time. Morgan got to his feet and started pacing.

Hotch called Garcia again.

She didn't answer.

"You've got to be kidding me," Hotch muttered. He called her again.

No answer.

"Morgan," Hotch said, "Do you have the hospital's number?"

Morgan nodded. He dialed it and handed the phone to Hotch.

"Jefferson Hospital, can I help you?"

"Hello," Hotch said, "This is Agent Aaron Hotchner with the FBI. About an hour ago, our technical analyst called and requested that an ambulance be sent to the LaMontagne Household. Has that ambulance returned?"

There was a pause. "Oh," the voice said, "Yes, it returned approximately fifteen minutes ago."

Hotch frowned. "Why did it take so long? Were the people alright?"

There was a slight pause. "Did you have a personal relationship with the victims, Agent Hotchner?"

Hotch frowned. "Um, I—yes, a woman on my team, and her husband and child."

There was another pause. "I'm very sorry to tell you this, Agent Hotchner," the voice said, and Hotch felt a feeling of horror and nausea well up deep inside of his stomach, "The victims were dead on arrival. The EMT's could not help them."

Hotch didn't speak. The rest of his teammates were staring at him.

"Are you sure?" he demanded suddenly, surprised by how aggressive he sounded.

The voice sounded surprised. "Yes, Agent Hotchner, of course." There was a pause. "I'm very sorry."

"Al…alright." He closed the phone.

None of them spoke. They knew already; he didn't have to say anything.

They sat in silence until the plane landed. Hotch mutely gestured for Rossi to follow him into the car; they needed to go to the crime scene.

"Morgan, Prentiss," Hotch muttered, "You…you just stay here, and…and wait for any more news." There wasn't really anything to do at headquarters; but Hotch didn't want the two agents to have to live with the images of their dead friends.

The two agents nodded; they both knew better than to disobey Hotch at this point.

When Hotch got into the car, his hands were shaking. He tried to take a deep breath; it didn't help in calming him down.

"Aaron," Rossi said, gently, from the passenger seat, "Why don't you let me drive?"

Hotch ignored him and started the car. Neither of them spoke until they arrived at the LaMontagne house.

Police had already started to arrive; the ambulance had already left. Hotch stepped out of the car, and flashed his badge at the police officers and CSI teams, causing them to back away from him. Rossi followed not far behind.

There were too many lights; too many lights and hushed voices and eyes following him inside; Hotch just felt numb. He wanted them to leave.

He stopped at the door. He stared at the doorknob for a moment, then grabbed it and pulled it open. He walked in.

There was blood everywhere. The walls, the floor, the furniture; they were all painted with blood. Hotch's eyes landed on Will first; he was slumped back against the couch, his eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling. Then his gaze moved to the blond woman on the floor.

Hotch heard Rossi made a horrified noise from behind him, and turn away; but Hotch couldn't turn away. His eyes remained fixed on JJ; she was on her side, her arm hanging strangely across her chest, her neck twisting upwards; her mouth was open in a scream, but Hotch couldn't see the rest of her face because it was obscured by blood. Suddenly, Hotch had a violent flash of Haley enter his mind; finally, he closed his eyes.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned, thinking it was Rossi; but it was one of the policemen. Rossi appeared to have gone back outside.

"She was shot five times," he said somberly, "Although CSI thinks she was dead after the first. The guy was only shot once."

Hotch forced himself to swallow. "Where's Henry?" he asked, his voice harsh.

"Who?" the police officer asked.

"H…Henry. The child."

The officer frowned, then turned towards him. "What child?"

Hotch frowned. "You didn't find a child?"

The police officer shook his head. "No, sir. Just these two victims."

"There was no little boy here?"

The officer was staring at him strangely. "These were the only ones the EMT's found. Is there another victim…?" The officer trailed off as Hotch started away, down the hallway. That was when he remembered Reid's words.

_I couldn't finish._

"Henry?" Hotch shouted. "Henry!" He sprinted down the hallway to the boy's room; it was empty. "Henry! Henry!"

He could hear Rossi's voice; then the officer, saying, "He's lost his mind or something." Rossi was beside him in a second.

"You think he's in here?" Rossi asked, a trace of disgust and horror creeping into his voice.

"Not just that," Hotch muttered, "I think he's still alive."

He ran throughout the house, Rossi struggling to keep up, calling Henry's name. "He's here, he's still here, I know he is," Hotch repeated, over and over. The tears that had been kept at bay now budded up in his eyes and began running down his face.

"Aaron," Rossi said sympathetically, "I don't think he's still…"

"It's locked!" Hotch was speaking of a closet that he had just stopped at. "Someone locked it, Dave!"

There was a pause. "Henry?" Hotch called.

There was no answer.

"Should we get someone to break it down?" Rossi asked.

Hotch shook his head, wiping the irritating tears off of his face. "No," he said, "If he's in there, it'll hurt him. Here—" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a paperclip; he inserted it into the lock and began to turn, expertly picking the lock. Rossi just watched in astonishment.

Finally, the lock clicked open; Hotch froze for a second, then grabbed the doorknob, wrenching it open.

A small, blond boy was curled up in the corner. He wasn't moving.

"Henry?" Hotch whispered, his heart pounding in his chest. Then, the boy stirred. He opened his eyes and let out a yawn; then looked at the man in front of him like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Hello, Henry," Hotch said, tears of relief now streaming down his face, "My name is Aaron Hotchner. Are you alright?"

Henry smiled. Then he spoke. "Spencer said you'd find me, mister Hotchner."

Hotch froze. "He…he what?"

"He said you'd find me. Keep me safe. Like…an angel." A blissful look of contentment formed the young boy's face.

Hotch reached down and picked him up. "Let's go, Henry," he said quietly. He carried the young boy out the back door and away from the house, with Rossi following several feet behind. He set the young boy in the back seat of his car.

"We're taking him to this hospital," Hotch called to the police, "Just to have him checked out." He turned to Rossi. "Dave, why don't you drive? I'll sit back here with him." As they pulled out, Hotch heard the police chief yelling at the other officers for not realizing that there had been a young boy locked in the closet.

When Hotch glanced over at Henry again, he had fallen back to sleep.

_*Review please, oh and everyone have a merry Christmas! : )*_


	11. Chapter 11

_*Thank you for any reviews! I hope everyone had a good Christmas!*_

It was dark and cold and she was already crying.

_There's no reason to be crying, _Garcia thought desperately. _They're fine. They must be. They _have _to be. _But that didn't stop the panicked tears from falling, running with her mascara and blurring her vision. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a car key.

_Once you get there, _she thought to herself, _JJ will open the door and tell you that Henry is fast asleep, and that was why she and Will had their phones on silent, of course…they were putting him to bed. That was why they didn't answer…_

She shoved the key into the lock, wrenched the door open, and climbed into the seat, throwing her bag into the car. She slammed the door shut and shoved her key in the ignition, her hands trembling with fear and anxiety.

That was when she heard him.

"Just give me a reason, and I won't do it."

Garcia sucked her breath in sharply; the all-too-familiar voice coming from the backseat of her car.

"You're upset," the voice remarked; she felt the gun pressed lightly to her neck. "Why are you upset?"

Garcia turned very slowly; she saw the large, brown, sympathetic eyes, the lips pulled into a kind smile, his hair falling haphazardly into his face; the watch, which he was wearing on the outside of his sleeve…and he became suddenly unfamiliar because of his sheer familiarity.

"Spencer," she whispered.

He laughed. "Don't call me that," he said, "You've never called me that before. What gives?"

"Reid," she said, "Did you…did you hurt JJ? And her family? Will and Henry?" He didn't answer, but continued to study her face.

"You're upset," he said again.

She swallowed, then turned and looked him full in the eye. "Yes," she said, "I am. I'm upset because I'm worried about my friend, and her family, and because I'm afraid of you right now."

Spencer leaned back in the seat, although he kept the gun pointed at her. "Let's get out of here," he said, and all of the sudden he had stopped sounding like himself.

"Wh…where do you want to go?" she asked.

"Oh…I don't know. Let's just drive," he said, as if they were about to embark on a pleasant family vacation.

"O…Okay. Whatever you want, Reid." Trying to keep her hand from shaking, Garcia started the car, put it in gear, and pulled out of the parking lot.

"You're real smart," Reid said suddenly. "With computers and stuff."

Garcia frowned. "Th…thank you," she whispered.

Reid fell silent; she glanced at him in the rear view mirror. He was staring despondently out the window.

"I don't want to do this," he said suddenly.

She swallowed. "D..do what?"

"Kill you." He said it very matter-of-factly; like expressing his distaste for a difficult homework assignment.

Garcia's hands started to shake again. "Then don't," she whispered.

"Let's get on the highway," Reid said suddenly.

"Or," Garcia said, "We could pull over, and I could—"

"DON'T YOU SEE?" Reid sat up suddenly, furiously. "DON'T YOU SEE THAT WE _HAVE_ TO? WE _HAVE _TO GET ON THE HIGHWAY!"

"Oh! Of course…the highway! What was I thinking?" She stammered, putting on her blinker and heading for the nearest exit.

"That's good," Reid mumbled, more to himself than to her, "This is good…"

"Reid," Garcia said suddenly, "Reid, do you remember that time when we went to see that movie? With me, and you, and Ashley, and Morgan?"

Reid frowned. He looked confused. Then he smiled.

"Oh, yeah," he said, "Good movie."

"It was, wasn't it?"

"Well," he said, "Actually, a lot of the plot elements were fairly inaccurate. See, the main character quoted a line from Frankenstein, but they made a mistake; see, Frankenstein wasn't actually the name of the monster, it was the name of the scientist. Mary Shelley frequently referenced…"

She kept glancing at him in the backseat; he continued to hold the gun, but was now looking at the window, and had let in fall sideways onto the backseat as he continued with his lecture. Could she grab it, while he was distracted?

_Of course not,_ she chastised herself, _Even if you managed to grab it, you'd both be killed in a collision with some other car._

It was at this point that she heard a pause in his babbling.

"Oh, really?" she inquired, although she hadn't been listening, "That's very interesting."

"You think so?" he asked cheerfully, "Yeah, well actually, in relation to Halloween the novel has had an interesting development over the years…"

Garcia smiled, hoping kindling in her stomach. If she could just keep him talking long enough…get him to remember who he was…

"Pull over!" Reid shouted suddenly, sitting up in his seat and aiming the gun at the back of her head.

"What? Why?" she demanded.

"Road blocks…" he narrowed his eyes, peering out into the distance. "They're trying to stop me, aren't they?" He turned to look at her; his gaze was terrified. "PULL OVER!" he shouted again, pressing the gun into the back of his head. "Pull _over_, or we're both dead!"

"Alright! Okay! I'm pulling over!" She pulled off the road, eventually slowing to a stop. They sat there in silence for a long time. Reid was taking deep breaths; like he was trying to calm himself down.

"I'm sorry," Garcia said, "I pulled over as fast as I could, you know. You just caught me off guard."

Reid sighed. "I know," he said, "I'm sorry. It doesn't matter, anyways. I've just had a very stressful week, is all. You know how it is." He then flashed a sarcastic smile.

"Is…is that a joke?" she asked. She was extremely confused by the fluctuating moods.

"Of _course _not!" Reid said, although he had started laughing. "It was very serious!" He continued to laugh hysterically for several moments, before he stopped suddenly; his face became very serious, and he pointed the gun at Garcia.

"Get out of the car."

"Reid!" Garcia said, "Please!"

"Out! Come on!" He prompted, gesturing wildly with the gun. "No, not that side—the passenger side, I mean—yeah, exactly." Garcia was trembling as she climbed over to the passenger seat, opened the door, then clumsily made her way out onto the grass.

"We're going into the woods," he said, nodding at the forest that was hulking about a hundred feet away.

"Reid," Garcia said, tears streaming down her face, "You don't want to do this. Please. I'm your friend."

Reid fixed her with a look of dark anger. "I know," he said. He pressed the gun to her side; so that it was out of sight from any passers-by; and the two of them began to walk towards the woods.

"Reid," Garcia muttered, "What happened to you? Why are you doing this? Why did you hurt all of those people?"

Reid stared straight ahead; they continued walking. "No one else understands," he said, "No one else was going to help them."

"What about your father, Reid? What about Gideon?"

They had made it into the woods now, but Reid kept walking. The night was pitch black.

"I thought you were afraid of the dark," Garcia whispered.

"Things change," Reid said. "The dark is a coward. It hides things." He paused. "It's weak." He had stopped walking. They stood in the silence for awhile.

"What about JJ?" Garcia gasped suddenly. "And Will? What about _Henry? _You hurt them, didn't you?_ Didn't you?"_

Reid took a few steps back from her; she turned to face him, but could barely see more than a silhouette in the dark. "You have to give me a reason not to," he said suddenly.

"Wh…what?" Garcia asked.

"I don't _want _to do this. It's terrible. It'll be no fun at all." A pause. "You see, I didn't finish. And now I have to finish it some way. But I'd rather it not be _this."_ Another pause. "You have to give me a reason."

"A reason…a reason _not _to kill me?" She gasped.

The silhouette nodded vigorously. "Think really hard now," he said earnestly.

"I…" she trailed off. "Because I don't deserve it," she said. "Because…because I've worked my whole life to save people and want to keep doing it…"

"No," Reid said suddenly, "Not that. Give me a reason why you're _happy._"

"Wh…what?" she asked, caught off guard. "Because I like being alive…because I don't want to die, Reid!"

"You're afraid." He raised the gun.

"Please!" Garcia shouted, her voice quavering.

"You're crying," the silhouette said, sounding appalled. "That isn't happy."

"I'm happy! Please! I don't want to die!"

A pause. "_Are_ you afraid?"

"Yes!" Garcia shouted, "Please, Reid!"

"It's okay," Reid said mockingly; a grin was evident in his voice. "You don't have to be afraid anymore."

She opened her mouth to speak—but it was too late. Something hit her, and then seconds later a gunshot rang out; she couldn't breathe anymore; she fell, trying to reach out to Reid; but the silhouette had already turned around, and was walking away. He disappeared eventually; leaving her to lie there alone, gazing at the dark, night sky.

_*Thank you for reading! Sorry about all the death! Review please : )*_


	12. Chapter 12

_*Thanks for reading!*_

"Any news?" Hotch demanded sharply.

Morgan shook his head slowly. "I've called her eight times, Hotch." His closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. "I keep waiting to wake up," he said. "I keeping waiting for the nightmare to be over. It's all too unreal…"

"I know," Hotch said. He sighed. "We'll keep waiting," he muttered. "I haven't gotten a call from him. After he…" he trailed off. "Well, he usually calls me."

Morgan just stared at the wall ahead despondently. "If he hurt her," he said suddenly, "If he so much as laid a finger on her, I'm going to kill him with my bare hands."

Hotch shuddered, turning away. Morgan was beginning to scare him.

_But do you really feel any different?_ A tiny voice asked him. He pushed it away, and went into the conference room. Prentiss was sitting on the couch with Henry.

"So, Henry," Hotch said, "Have you been talking with Miss Prentiss here?"

Henry shuffled nervously in his seat, then nodded. "A lil bit."

Hotch smiled, then glanced at Prentiss. She shook her head, indicating that she hadn't been able to learn anything of importance.

"Alright, Henry," Hotch said, "I'm going to ask you a few more questions. Okay?"

Henry nodded.

"Do you remember what time Spencer came to your house last night? It was before Rossi and I picked you up."

Hotch had taken him home the night before; then driven both Henry and Jack to his mother's house, which was an hour away from where he lived; and well outside the roadblocks. Jack was still there; he had brought Henry to the BAU to interview him.

"Henry?" Hotch prompted.

The small boy was staring at the table, fidgeting in the too-big pair of overalls that had originally been Jack's. He had pronounced, dark circles under his eyes.

"I want my mommy," Henry whimpered.

"Henry," Hotch said softly, "Your mommy isn't here right now, but Emily and I are taking care of you. Remember?"

Henry nodded. They had decided against telling Henry about his parents' death until they had someone to take care of him; they had called in his grandparents from out of state.

"So," Hotch began, "Do you remember when Spencer came to your house? Close your eyes, Henry. Just try to think back, and remember."

Henry closed his eyes, his tiny hands fidgeting nervously. "Bedtime," he whispered, "It was past bedtime."

"What time is your bedtime, Henry?"

Henry sucked in his cheeks. "After Barney."

Hotch nodded. "So, seven o'clock?" Prentiss raised her eyebrows at him.

"Jack used to watch it," he muttered defensively.

Henry nodded. "Yeah. Seven clocks."

"Okay, good. So, what did Spencer do when he came in? Did he come in the back door?"

Henry shook his head.

"Where did he come in?"

"Front." Henry bit his lip. "Like my G-I Joe."

Hotch raised his eyebrows. "Huh?"

"Mommy let him in. He came in like G-I Joe." Henry put his hand in a fist and stuck his pointer finger out and his thumb up. A gun.

"I see," Hotch said, "What did he do then, Henry?"

Henry opened his eyes. He pointed his hand at Hotch's head.

"Bang," he said. Then he giggled. "Like…cops and robbers."

Hotch swallowed. "I…I see."

"Daddy was really surprised," Henry said.

"I bet he was, Henry," Hotch said, trying to keep his mind away from the actual scene and on the boy in front of him. "Then what happened?"

"Went to mommy," Henry said, swinging around to point the 'finger gun' at Prentiss. "Bang! Bangbangbangbangbang!" He giggled again.

"Alright, Henry," Hotch said eventually, since Prentiss appeared to have lost the ability to speak. "What happened after that?"

Henry closed his eyes again. "Spencer said it was time for bed," he said, looking pleased that the adults were so interested in his story. "We went into my room."

"Into your room?"

"Uh-huh."

"What happened after that?"

"I told him my mommy and daddy were supposed to tuck me in."

Hotch nodded slowly. "Alright," he said. "What did he say?"

"He said they had already gone to bed."

Hotch nodded. "Of course," he muttered. "What did he say after that?"

Henry bit his lip. "He was giving me…weird looks. And I sawed that he was nervous, too." Henry paused thoughtfully. "When I was bout to go to sleep, he asked me if I was happy."

Hotch raised his eyebrows. "If you were happy?"

Henry nodded. "I thought it was a silly question," he said, a small smile appearing on his .

"So what did you do then?" Hotch demanded.

Henry smiled. "I laughed."

"You laughed?"

Henry nodded. "Laughed," he repeated.

"What happened after that?"

"Well…Spencer said we could play hide n' seek. He said that I needed to stay hidden for as long as possibly. So I says, that I usually would hide in the closet. There's one near the kitchen that I play in lots of times."

"Okay," Hotch said. "So you went to the closet?"

"Yeah, I showed Spencer and said not to tell. He said I needed to stay quiet, and that…that Mr. Hotchner would find me and keep me safe."

"Did he say anything else?" Hotch asked.

Henry's forehead creased, as if he were trying very hard to remember. "He said…he said that you were like an angel. He said that you and him were both angels, just different kinds."

Hotch nodded slowly. "What happened after he said that?"

"He told me it was going to be a really fun game. Then he closed the door. I don't know where he was going." The boy paused thoughtfully. "Probably to wake up my mommy and daddy. He wanted them to play too, I think."

Hotch nodded. "Do you remember hearing anything else after that?"

Henry shook his head slowly. "No, don't remember nothing else, cause…cause… I fell asleep."

Hotch smiled. "Thank you, Henry," he said, "You've been very—"

"Hotch! Prentiss!" Hotch glanced over his shoulder, away from Henry. Rossi was staring at him from the doorway. "I think you need to come out here."

Hotch got to his feet. "Henry," Hotch said, "Can you wait here by yourself, quietly, for a few minutes? We need to have a grown-up talk."

Henry nodded. "Kay." Hotch reached into his pocket and pulled out one of Jack's toy dinosaurs; which he always kept in case of emergencies; and he and Prentiss exited the room.

"What is it?" Hotch asked.

Rossi glanced up at him. "They found her, Hotch," he muttered. "The body wasn't well hidden. Just off the interstate."

Hotch felt as if he were sinking even further into a dark, endless pit which he was already submerged in; the news failed to bring anything more than a sharp, numbing, pang; like someone kicking at a body that was too bruised to feel pain.

Prentiss turned away abruptly to face the wall; he could hear her gasping as she tried to compose herself, before she ultimately decided that it wasn't worth it and turned and walked quickly away from the two of them.

Hotch swallowed, forcing himself to speak. "Where's Morgan?" he asked.

Rossi shook his head slowly. "He took off the moment I told him. I don't know where he's gone." Rossi paused. "I just hope he doesn't do anything stupid," the older man muttered.

Hotch thought of Morgan's words from not ten minutes ago; _If he so much as laid a finger on her, I'm going to kill him with my bare hands._

Hotch turned and started towards the staircase exiting the building. "I don't know what, yet," he said darkly, "But he's definitely going to do something stupid."

_*More to come soon! Please leave a review : ). Happy New Years to everybody!*_


	13. Chapter 13

_*Thanks for reading, especially thank you to anyone who reviewed!*_

Hotch jogged hurriedly down the stairs; he didn't understand why his teammates had to get themselves in trouble all the time; Reid, JJ, Garcia, now Morgan...he felt like a babysitter who had failed miserably.

He dialed Morgan's number. To no one's surprise, his teammate didn't answer. "Morgan," he panted, jogging out into the parking lot, "You shouldn't be driving right now. You aren't in the right state of mind. I know how hard this is for you. But we also know that Reid is somewhere _in_side the roadblocks, so…" He trailed off. "Please call me back."

He hung up the phone. As he was getting into his car, he called Rossi. "Hotch?" Rossi answered, his voice confused. "Didn't you just leave?"

"Yeah," Hotch said, starting the engine. "Listen, I need you to call Kevin Lynch, we need someone working the—" He broke off. "On second thought, call Kevin Lynch and tell him to come to the office so you can tell him about Garcia. I don't want him finding out about this through the news." Hotch's speaking got faster and faster as he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road. "Then get a hold of some _other _technical analyst and have them come in to work the computers."

"Yes, sir."

"Once you've done that, make sure to contact any mental health facilities; hell, any _hospitals_ in the area _inside_ the roadblocks, and get police officers stationed outside."

"Alright, Aaron."

Hotch let out a sigh. "How's Prentiss?"

There was a pause. "As expected," Rossi said gravely.

"Is Strauss in yet? She's not going to be happy about this. She's going to try and take us off the case, I know it." Hotch ran his fingers through his hair. "Is someone staying with Henry? Shoot, I forgot about Henry—"

"Aaron," Rossi interrupted, "Calm down. Strauss just got in. I'll talk to her. I'm watching Henry. He's playing with a dinosaur."

"Right," Hotch muttered.

"Aaron?"

Hotch sighed. "Yes?"

"Are _you _alright?"

Hotch chuckled darkly. "I feel like I'm living in some kind of sick, fucked up joke." He paused. "Yeah, I'm alright."

"You don't sound it."

Hotch sighed. "Just…stay with Henry until his grandparents get here. Once I find Morgan, we'll come back to Quantico, and—" Hotch broke off, suddenly overwhelmed by a violent rush of anger. "We have to catch him," he said desperately. "I don't care what else happens. I don't even care anymore. We just have to catch him."

Rossi cleared his throat. "Hotch, maybe you should—"

"Don't tell Strauss about Morgan leaving," Hotch said suddenly, returning to giving instructions, "She'll take it as evidence that we can't handle this. Just—just make sure we keep working the case. It's the only way. We have to _catch _him, Dave."

"Hotch," Rossi said, "Are you sure it's the wisest—"

"Sorry, Dave, I've got another call," Hotch said frantically, ending the conversation. "Hello?" he answered busily.

"Hiya."

Hotch almost slammed on the brakes out of surprise, as if the voice were somehow in the car, with him; the car behind him honked loudly. Hotch put his foot on the gas again, trying to regain his composure.

"Hell_oo…_" The voice said again. "Hotch! Are you there? This is Reid. I'd like to talk to you."

Hotch cleared his throat, trying desperately to remember all of his training. What did he say next? His mind had gone strangely blank. He could only remember one thing; _don't let your emotions take over…_

"Hello, Reid," Hotch said, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. "Was there something you wanted?"

"Yes," Reid said, "I'm calling to tell you that I don't like the roadblocks you've set up. I'd like you to get rid of them."

Under different circumstances, Hotch would have laughed. "I don't think that's going to happen," he said calmly.

"Oh," Reid said, obviously disappointed. "Not even for an old friend, Hotch?" His voice had taken on a jeering, mocking tone.

"Nope," Hotch said darkly. _Keep your emotions in check…_

"Ah," Reid said sadly, "Well, I suppose that's to be expected. Now, Hotch," he said patronizingly, "I like you quite a bit. I liked Garcia, _too_, and JJ, and even _Will_ wasn't so bad. I like the whole team, actually! If you weren't so _stubborn_ all the time, Hotch…"

Hotch was gritted his teeth so hard that he was certain they had become cemented together.

"Alright, well listen. I don't _want _to do any of this. But when you start something, Hotch, the only reasonable, sensible, _moral_ thing to do is to _finish _it. And so, you see…I _have _to finish. Don't you _see_, Hotch?"

Hotch took a deep breath, but he couldn't answer. His teeth were still cemented together.

"Well?" The voice demanded petulantly, arrogantly.

Hotch let his breath out. "No!" he snapped. "I don't see! I don't fucking _see, _Spencer Reid! Do you think what you're doing is _good_? You're a murderer! You're a _murderer_, and we're going to find you! We're going to find you and _kill _you, you hear me?"

Well, so much for keeping his emotions in check.

He heard a soft giggle from the end of the line; as if Reid was trying to keep himself from bursting into laughter; as if Hotch's words had amused him in some delightfully hysterical manner.

"It was nice talking to you, Hotch," Reid sniggered, "I'll see you soon. Bye."

"Wait, I—" The line went dead. Hotch gritted his teeth, utterly furious. He sighed, put on his blinker, and pulled onto the side of the road. He put his face in his hands. He couldn't do this anymore.

His phone rang. Hotch considered smashing it against the window before he saw who it was.

"Hello?" he swallowed anxiously, "Morgan?"

"Yeah. Hey, Hotch." Morgan's voice sounded despondent and exhausted.

Hotch let out a sigh of relief. "Where are you?" he asked.

Morgan didn't answer. "I didn't know what to do," he said weakly, "I had to do something. I went looking for him, but…I don't know where he is. I can't stop thinking about…Penelope. I keep on seeing her face. There has to be _something, _Hotch…something I can do to make it right again…"

"Where are you?" Hotch interrupted, putting an end to the other man's babbling.

A sigh. "I'm at Reid's apartment building," he mumbled. He sounded embarrassed.

"I'll be there in ten minutes."

When Hotch arrived at the building, he didn't see Morgan out front. He pushed his way into the building; he heard the familiar _ding _of the door as he entered.

He was really beginning to hate that sound.

Morgan was sitting on one of the benches near the reception area. He had his head in his hands, and didn't appear to notice Hotch until the unit chief sat down beside him.

"Hey," he said.

Morgan didn't look up. "I remember coming here," he said at the ground, "When he was just getting his memory back. Remember?"

Hotch nodded. "Yeah."

"And Garcia made him cookies."

Hotch nodded again.

"And…and I stayed the night, to…make sure he was safe. And then he wandered off and got stabbed. And I felt guilty. _Guilty. _And then I went to visit him every weekend he wasn't working, with Garcia, and JJ, and Garcia made him cookies, and we…" Morgan trailed off, staring at the ground. Hotch didn't say anything.

Morgan glanced up at him. "Sorry," he said, "I know he's targeting the team. It was stupid to run off like that."

"It's okay," Hotch said. There was a long moment of silence. Neither one of them seemed to know what to say.

"Hotch?" Morgan mumbled.

"Yeah?"

"Why'd he do it?"

Hotch glanced at the other man in shock; he had never heard Morgan sound so vulnerable in his life. The question was so simple; it was unanswerable. Hotch chuckled weakly.

"You know," he said, "You'd think that with all we've seen with this job, I'd know the answer." A pause. "But I don't."

Morgan didn't say anything.

"There's something that's different about him," Hotch muttered, "Something changed. After the kidnapping, I mean. He was a different person, you know? There's probably some psychological reason why he…." Hotch trailed off. "Oh, who am I kidding? Why does anyone do anything? I don't know. I'm tired of studying human behavior. I hate human behavior." He stood up. "Come on," he muttered, "Let's get back to the office."

When Morgan and Hotch arrived back at the office, they were greeted by a very angry Strauss.

"Agent Hotchner," she snapped, "My office?"

Hotch let out a sigh and followed her into the office.

"Agent Strauss," he said, "If you'd just give me a chance to expl—"

"No," she hissed, "Absolutely not. You requested permission for you team to work the case. What you did _not _mention was that _threats _had been issued against the teammates, and as a result two of your team members are dead and—"

"Agent Strauss," Hotch said, "Please. The team has the situation under control. We have set up roadblocks so as to contain him. There are officers stationed at any place where he might attack next. He will not get away. We have dealt with situations where the team was being targeted before. You _have _to allow us to continue on this case."

She stared at him, openmouthed. "Stay on the _case?"_ She said in disbelief.

Hotch nodded. "Additionally, we—"

"Agent Hotchner," she snapped, "I am considering whether or not to fire you on the spot. Think of the _danger_—"

"Agent Strauss," he snapped, "The members of our team understand the dangerous risks that are a part of this job. This is one of the reasons we are proud to serve on the Bureau. _Please_ do not allow a personal vendetta to inhibit the progress of this case. If you take us off this case now, everything we've done will have been for nothing."

She pursed her lips, obviously thinking. Finally, she spoke. "Agent Rossi said you expected to catch him before the night is up?"

"That's correct," Hotch said. "He can't leave town, because of the roadblocks. And when he attacks again tonight; or tries to; we'll catch him for sure. We have officers stationed at every mental health hospital in the area."

She let out a sigh. "How do you know he'll attack again, Agent Hotchner?"

Hotch turned towards the window, his back to Strauss. "He has to." Hotch paused, staring out at the darkening sky. "He's got to finish what he started."

_*Thank-you for reading. We get to have some fun in the next chapter. Reviews are your friend, of course : )*_


	14. Chapter 14

**Thank you for reading! Sorry it took me so long to update. The author's notes are now in bold because apparently that's what everyone else does.**

"Have you heard anything?" Hotch demanded angrily.

"No, sir. Haven't heard anything yet, sir, sorry."

Hotch was speaking to the new technical analyst, a very thin man named Justin Boyson. He was wearing glasses that seemed too big for his face and kept twitching nervously.

"It's nearly five in the morning. He should have attacked by now," Hotch muttered.

"Yes, sir," Justin muttered nervously. "We're keeping tabs, sir, on all of the hospitals, sir, but we haven't heard anything yet, sir—"

"Has the power gone out at any of them?" Hotch asked.

"No, sir, we would know immediately if it did…sir."

Hotch gritted his teeth. "Alright…keep watching."

"Yes, sir."

Hotch left the office, rubbing his eyes and emitting a loud yawn. Rossi was in his office, staring out the window. Hotch glanced into the bullpen; Morgan was spinning slowly around and around in his chair, tossing a foam basketball up and down aimlessly. Prentiss; who had been in tears on and off all afternoon; had apparently exhausted herself completely and fallen asleep at her desk.

Hotch thought about going into his office and following her example. However, he forced himself to go into the break room and pour himself a cup of coffee. He returned to the bullpen area and called everyone into the conference room.

It took them awhile to get assembled; mostly because it took Morgan several minutes to wake Prentiss up. After everyone was seated, Hotch realized he didn't really have anything constructive to say.

"It doesn't make any sense," he said eventually. "The profile says that he _had _to attack tonight. But he hasn't attacked anywhere."

Rossi and Prentiss stared at him apathetically. Prentiss' eyes looked like they were about to close again. Morgan got to his feet; he seemed to be the only with any energy.

"Maybe he's waiting," Morgan said. "He probably knows that we've staked out all the hospitals."

Hotch was already shaking his head. "He told me he was going to attack tonight," he muttered, "He _has _to attack tonight. He'll feel…_wrong _if he doesn't."

Morgan raised his eyebrows. "Hotch," he said, "Reid's smart. He knows that he can't attack any of those hospitals and get away with it."

Hotch continued to shake his head. "No," he said, "It doesn't make any sense. It doesn't—"

Hotch broke off angrily as his phone began to ring. He glanced at the caller ID; unknown number.

"You guys," Hotch said solemnly, "This could be him."

It rang again.

"If it is, we obviously won't be able to track it. But…"

"Put it on speaker," Rossi advised.

Hotch did just that, then answered the phone.

"This is Hotch."

"Agent Hotchner?" It was a young woman's voice. She sounded extremely frightened.

"Yes?" Hotch inquired, confused.

"He wanted me…he wanted me to call to say…you lose."

Hotch froze. "What?"

"Agent Hotchner, I tried to stop it. I really did. I just…oh, god."

"Who is this? What's happened? Where are you?" Hotch demanded.

"I wanted to s-stop him, Agent Hotchner, but I thought he would kill me, I—"

"Where are you?" Hotch demanded.

"I…I work at St. Emerson's." The voice took a deep breath.

"St. what?" Hotch demanded angrily.

"It's a n-nursing home," she whispered, her voice trembling.

"Nursing home?" Hotch said, his blood turning to ice.

The girl's voice was descending into panic. "He just killed them. He killed all of them. They're all dead. I couldn't do anything…"

"Justin!" Hotch screeched, pushing his way out of the office and rushing into the computer lab. Justin whipped around in his chair, looking terrified.

"Find St. Emerson's Nursing Home," Hotch demanded.

"I…okay, sir," Justin whispered, his fingers shaking as he typed the address into the search engine. Twenty seconds later, he said, "It's about fifteen miles from here, sir."

"Send the address to my phone," Hotch snapped, thinking errantly that Garcia could have found it in half the time. "And send an ambulance." The girl on the other end of the line had begun to sob.

"What's your name?" Hotch asked the girl, trying to calm her down.

"Alyssa," she whimpered. "I'm so sorry, Agent Hotchner…"

"Alyssa, we're coming right away," Hotch said. "Just stay where you are. How many people are hurt?"

"No one's hurt," she whispered.

"What?"

"No one's hurt. They're all dead," she gasped, and started to sob again.

"Is there anyone else with you, Alyssa?"

"They're all dead. All of them," she wailed.

Hotch whipped by the conference room, motioning for the other three agents to follow him.

"Alyssa, how long ago were you attacked?" Hotch asked, as the four of them rushed down the staircase.

"I called you right away," she gasped, "I called you as soon as I could. I promise, Agent Hotchner."

"So, ten minutes ago?"

"More…more like five," she whispered. "I…I called right away. As soon as he…gave me the phone. I promise."

"Alyssa, did you see the man who did this?"

"Y-yes. I c-can identify him if you w-want, I saw his face, I…" she trailed off, then began breathing very quickly.

"Alyssa, I want you to sit down on the ground and put your head between your knees. Take deep breaths. I don't want you to hyperventilate. Okay?" By this point, Hotch had already gotten into the car with Morgan, with Prentiss and Rossi in the backseat. He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, sirens blaring.

"Okay…okay…" He could hear her breathing deeply, trying to calm herself.

"Alright, Alyssa. Now, did you see which way the man who did this went? After he left the nursing home?"

"N-no. He l-locked me in the c-closet. D-dialed the number, and left, and…"

Hotch frowned. "You're in a closet?"

"He…he locked the door. T-told me to call you, though…I d-don't know where he went…" She trailed off and started breathing too quickly again.

"Alright, Alyssa, just relax. No one's going to hurt you. We're almost there."

Hotch stayed on the phone with Alyssa, still trying to calm her down. When they arrived at the address, everything was dark. There were no cars in the parking lot.

"He's already left," Rossi muttered grimly.

Hotch sighed. "Alyssa, we're at the building. I'm going to hang up now, but we'll be right inside. Okay?"

"O…okay, Agent Hotchner."

Hotch snapped the phone shut; he and Morgan advanced with their guns raised, with Prentiss and Rossi not far behind. Morgan reached for the door.

"It's not locked, you guys," he said. Morgan pushed the door open and the four of them entered the darkened building.

"Oh, my god," Prentiss whispered.

Two young women and a man were lying on the floor; each of them had a bullet hole in their head. They were all wearing scrubs. "Nurses and orderlies," Morgan muttered.

"Come on," Hotch said. They moved towards a room filled with the bodies of five or six patients, each slumped in a wheelchair or lying on the floor.

Prentiss and Rossi rushed in and began checking the pulses of the patients; Hotch and Morgan moved on. It was deathly quiet.

They passed another room filled with bodies; Hotch averted his eyes and moved on. How many could there possibly be?

It was at this point that he heard a dull pounding. "Alyssa?" Hotch said, immediately starting forward. The pounding got louder. "Alyssa!" He turned a corner and approached a small storage closet.

"Alyssa? Is that you?"

He heard a soft "Yes!" from inside the closet, and some relieved sobbing.

"Can you get away from the door? My friend is going to kick it in."

He heard a muffled affirmation. Several seconds later, Morgan backed up and kicked the door in. A young woman who looked no older than twenty was crouched in the corner, trembling. "A-agent Hotchner?" she asked, looking directly at Hotch. Hotch noticed that she was still clutching a phone in her hand.

Hotch nodded. "Are you alright?" he asked. Alyssa burst into tears and ran at Hotch before collapsing, forcing him to catch her. Hotch slowly lowered her onto the ground, maintaining eye contact. "You're having a panic attack," he said, "I just need you to take deep breaths, okay? You're going to be fine."

Meanwhile, Rossi approached them. "The nurses and orderlies died of gunshot wounds," he said, "But all of the patients were injected with a lethal dose of…something." He trailed off. "They all had similar looking track marks on their arms."

"No survivors?" Hotch asked weakly.

"We searched both floors. Prentiss is checking each room separately, but my guess is no."

Alyssa began to hyperventilate again.

"Hey, deep breaths, remember?" Hotch said.

"It's m-my fault," she gasped, "I was the f-first to see him w-walk in. I was afraid he was going to k-kill me…I c-couldn't h-help them…he killed…and he has…"

"It's alright," Hotch soothed her, "Just take a deep breath. There was nothing you could have done."

"Hotch, the ambulance is here," Prentiss called.

"Can you stand?" Hotch asked Alyssa. She nodded fervently, although she was still breathing heavily.

"I can't breathe!" She gasped suddenly, collapsing again. Hotch supported her, then gently lifted her up.

"We're going to go outside," he said soothingly, carrying her out towards the doors.

"Agent Hotchner, will you go with me in the ambulance?" She pleaded, her grip on his shirt vice-like.

Hotch sighed. "I have to stay with my team and look over the crime scene," he said, "Or else the man who did this might get away. But I'll wait with you until the ambulance is ready to leave, okay?" Alyssa looked significantly calmer. She was still holding the phone. Hotch stepped outside, carrying Alyssa across the parking lot.

"I have to call my…mom," she gasped, fiddling with the device.

"Put that away, you can call her later," Hotch said; however, the girl didn't appear to be listening, and Hotch didn't have much control over the situation seeing as her was using both of his arms to carry her. She dialed a number, waited as it rung a few times, then snapped it shut suddenly.

"Oh, no, she's probably asleep!" She gasped, and began hyperventilating again.

"Alyssa, you need to calm down. You're perfectly safe. You can call you mother once you get to the hospital."

"No, no, you don't understand," she whispered, as they got further and further away from the building. They arrived at the ambulance and Hotch sat her down on one of the steps.

"A paramedic will be with you shortly, once they've finished checking the building," Hotch said soothingly. However, this didn't seem to calm Alyssa down. Her breathing sped up again, and tears began leaking down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Agent Hotchner," she whispered.

Hotch frowned. He opened his mouth to speak—but was immediately cut off.

He heard it first; the blast was louder than anything he'd experienced before. Then he saw it; a combination of red and yellow and orange and smoke, pieces of debris flying everywhere; he could feel himself screaming, but he couldn't hear it. Alyssa was crying, mouthing over and over "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

Hotch couldn't move; he was frozen in place, staring at the smoldering remains of the building, his mouth agape, his chest and lungs constricting in terror; he heard the echo of a voice in his mind, repeating the same mantra over and over.

_You lose._

**Confused? If you read carefully, you might be able to figure it out. Otherwise, all will be explained in the next chapter. Thank-you for reading! Please leave a review!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Thank you to all of the awesome people who have read and reviewed this story! Hopefully this will alleviate most of the confusion. Probably not all of it. Just most of it.**

Hotch was staring.

He couldn't move.

He couldn't speak.

He couldn't stop staring.

Someone was pulling on his jacket. He tried to move. He tried to turn his head to look.

Frozen.

Oh, well.

"_Agent Hotchner?"_

The voice came to him from far off. He blinked.

Well, that was progress.

"_Agent Hotchner!"_

He wrenched his neck away from the scene in front of him; the amount of effort it took was physically painful.

Alyssa was grabbing onto his jacket, tears streaming down her face. "I _had _to, Agent Hotchner," she sobbed. "I'm sorry…I couldn't help it…I saved _you, _didn't I….Agent Hotchner?"

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He looked at the building again; _what building? _He thought. The building was gone. Everything was red. He closed his eyes, suddenly overcome by the feeling of nausea.

He reached out for support, trying to grab onto the nearest thing; that thing, apparently, was Alyssa's shoulder. He gripped it tight, trying to keep himself from falling over. Everything was swimming very strangely.

"Agent Hotchner?" Alyssa sounded fearful.

He opened his mouth; he felt like he should say something. All that came out was a strange, choking noise.

"Agent Hotchner!" Alyssa shrieked.

"I killed them," he gasped suddenly. He hadn't intended to say it; he hadn't even been thinking it; but that's what had come out.

"Agent Hotchn…" Alyssa trailed off as Hotch pulled away from her, stumbling towards the building.

"Morgan!" He shouted stupidly. "Prentiss? DAVE! MORGAN!" He was forced to stop as another small explosion rocked what was left of the building.

_Probably the fire getting to the gasoline in the heating tank,_ Hotch mused, his brain feeling strange and detached.

"Agent Hotchner!" He felt Alyssa run up beside him. She put her hand around his arm, as if to pull him back. He ignored her, trying to force his way towards the building.

"Agent Hotchner, it isn't safe," she whispered.

Hotch stopped struggling, turning wildly to look at her, snatching at pieces of fragmented reality. "Alyssa," he muttered, "You should get with the EMTs. It…it isn't safe." He turned around. "Where…where are they?"

He could see her eyes welling up with tears again. "In…inside the building," she hiccupped.

Forcing his hands to stop their trembling, Hotch reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He dialed the number.

"911, what's your emergency?" The woman on the other end sounded very bored.

"We need an ambulance sent to St. Emerson's nursing home," he muttered. He hung up before the lady had a chance to respond.

Alyssa was staring at the building, shaking her head. "It's no use," she whispered.

Hotch didn't say anything.

"There's nothing left," she moaned, her voice coming out in a strange, high pitched wail. She grabbed onto Hotch's arm and began to cry again. Hotch made no move to comfort her. He had something else on his mind.

"You said you were sorry," he muttered. He turned slowly towards her. She was looking at him with desperate, pleading eyes; guilty eyes.

"He has Katie," she whispered.

Hotch swallowed, different parts of his brain scrambling to make sense of what she was saying. "Who?"

If Alyssa had been upset before, it was nothing compared to now. She broke down into hysterics, clutching Hotch's arm. "He would've _known, _Agent Hotchner. He would've killed her, then…then he would've killed me, I…" she trailed off. "I didn't know what it was," she whispered. "I hoped…"

Hotch blinked. "You set off the bomb," he said blankly.

"I _had _to, Agent Hotchner…he has _Katie, _Agent Hotchner…" The girl's brown eyes were begging him for forgiveness.

Hotch just shook his head. "How?" he rasped.

She broke down crying again, reaching into her pocket and thrusting a cell phone into his hand. "It's his," she choked out. "Oh, god…I didn't know…what'd I do…?"

Hotch walked away from her, staring at the cell phone in his hands. He flipped it open. There were two recent calls. One was to "Mom," made approximately seven minutes ago. The other was to "Tucker."

Hotch selected that one and waited. It rung three times.

Then he answered.

"Hotch," Reid's voice said, "I thought I'd be hearing from you."

Hotch took a deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Ask the necessary questions. "You have a girl," he said slowly, "Named Katie?"

"Me? Don't be ridiculous. What use would I have for a thing like that? Even if I _did _have a girl named Katie, I can assure you would get rid of her as soon as possible. I have recently discovered that girls named Katie are usually in_cred_ibly boring."

Hotch stared blankly at the phone, expecting to feel anger; but it didn't come. Something had snapped; something was broken, destroyed beyond repair. There was nothing there anymore. There was an empty man in a suit asking questions. And that was all.

"Where is she?" Hotch asked quietly. "Assuming you have no use for her, I mean. Her friend wants her back."

"Oh, ah—I have to apologize to her friend. She'll have her back—she just won't be in the same condition as when she left."

Hotch swallowed. "Why?" he asked hollowly. He wished he could force anger into his voice. Anger or grief. Anything. There was nothing.

"Well," Reid said carefully, "I've just got a quick question."

"What's that?" Suddenly, from the other end of the line, Hotch heard the most familiar noise—a soft _ding—_like a door opening.

"I was just wondering, Hotch—" he heard a soft snigger from the other end of the line—"Is the team still working the case?"

Hotch blinked. He felt a small smile creep onto his face. It was not a happy smile.

It was a smile of hatred.

"Yes," he said.

"But of course," Reid replied diplomatically. "You're an excellent profiler, Hotch. I'll see you soon."

The line went dead.

Mechanically, Hotch pocketed his phone. He started towards the car.

"Agent Hotchner!" He heard Alyssa shriek, "Where are you going?"

Hotch ignored her. He got into the car. Started the engine.

"Agent Hotchner! You can't _leave _me here!" Alyssa cried desperately, running towards the car. "We have to find Katie!" She stopped at the window. Hotch rolled it down.

"The EMTs are on their way," he said, "And your friend is dead." He rolled the window up again and drove away. He had already forgotten about her by the time he made it out of the parking lot.

He had forgotten about all of it—all except one thing, really. There was only one thought that remained in his mind; like a mantra, a prayer, it played over and over. There was nothing else; it was all he had left.

He knew where to find Spencer Reid.

And he was going to kill him.

**Sorry it is rather short. Also, sorry if you're still confused. More to come soon. Please review, it makes me happy and it makes me write faster : ). **


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note: This is the last chapter.**__**It ends rather ambiguously, but I kind of want it that way so I will not be writing an epilogue or clarification of any kind. If you are very, very confused by the end you can ask me a question in a review or PM and I'll answer it. Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing, and please tell me what you think of the end!**

The tires screeched as he swerved around the corner, the smell of burnt rubber filling his nose as he smashed his foot on the gas pedal and zipped down the highway.

_He's not going to get away. _Hotch was sure of this. Reid didn't _want _to get away; that was why he had allowed Hotch to hear the door ring. He would still be there. It made sense. That was the _profile._

_It's a trap. _Yes, that would be the next logical conclusion. Somehow, Hotch didn't care.

Hotch could feel his hands trembling with anger and adrenaline as he pulled into the parking lot. He was out of the car before he had fully stopped, sprinting at the building.

The door _dinged _again as he entered. The receptionist gave him a frightened look.

"Is there something wr-wrong—"

"FBI," Hotch said, flashing his badge at her. "Get everyone out of the building."

He didn't turn to see his frightened look as he sprinted down the hall. He slowed to a stop as he approached the door. He stared for a moment.

The fire alarm went off.

He nodded once to himself; the small part of his brain that actually cared about other people was pleased with this.

He thought briefly about Jack. What would his son say to him right now? If he knew he was embarking on a suicide mission? If he _knew _that Reid wouldn't let him out alive? What would think of him, if he went in?

What would Jack think if he _didn't _go in? What if Reid got away _again?_ What if other people died, because he didn't go in…?

Slowly, Hotch reached for the door. He pulled it open.

Reid was sitting on the couch, reading.

Hotch almost wanted to laugh.

Except that it wasn't really funny.

Reid looked up. He was smiling, as if Hotch was a welcome visitor he had been expecting for ages.

"It was about time you showed up," Reid said.

Hotch pointed his gun at him.

"That's not very friendly," Reid admonished him. He moved the book onto the couch, slowly; Hotch glanced at the cover.

One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest.

That was oddly fitting.

But that was not the thing that held Hotch's attention. It was the thing in his hand.

Reid was holding a remote control. He ran his thumb over it slowly, as if caressing it.

"So that's it?" Hotch snapped suddenly, exasperatedly. "You're going to blow both of us up? Was that your plan all along?"

Reid grinned and shrugged. He got to his feet.

"I knew you'd come," he said, clutching the remote tight to his chest, his finger on the button. "That's why I chose you. Rossi, Prentiss—they would have sent a bomb squad in. With Morgan, it could have gone either way. But _you_; you wanted to _catch _me. I _knew _you'd come in yourself. You're a very self sacrificing person. You see, Hotch—" Reid flashed him a grin. "I'm a profiler."

Hotch wondered how the hell Reid had gotten a hold of so many explosives.

Reid rolled his eyes. "I _made _them, Hotch," he said, as if he were disappointed by his superior's incompetence. "I have a _doctorate _in _chemistry."_

Hotch blinked. Reid was a better profiler than he'd thought.

"I'll shoot you right now," Hotch said, "Before you can push that button."

"Really?" Reid asked, raising his eyebrows. "You think you can? How about I just push it now, then, to save you the trouble?"

Hotch took an involuntary step backwards. Reid looked delighted by this.

"You _see, _Hotch?" he said giddily, "Isn't this just the perfect way to finish it?"

Hotch shook his head slowly, staring at the ground. "You don't have to finish it," he muttered.

"I _do!" _Reid shouted, for the first time losing his cool; he took a step forwards, his eyes dark and angry.

"_Why?" _Hotch asked, feeling the question that had haunted him day and night finally escaping.

"_Because!" _Reid shouted, suddenly erupting in anger, "Because of _them!" _His free arm flew out backwards, pointing towards the window. "For Tucker! And my mother! For _them, _Hotch!" Reid was staring at him wildly, as if begging him to understand.

Hotch shook his head. "You've murdered…"

"I've _saved _them!" He shouted at Hotch; his voice echoed off the walls of the apartment.

"JJ," Hotch interrupted, "And Will, and Morgan and Garcia and Prentiss and those nurses, and that girl, Katie—Reid, they were _innocent."_

Reid fixed him with a blank stare. "No one's innocent," he whispered. "Not enough to be _happy, _anyways. You get older and everything changes and it gets all fucked up, Hotch—_all…fucked…_up_."_

Hotch didn't know what to say.

Reid started pacing the room. "That's what I realized, Hotch," he said, speaking quickly. "After I got back. All the people we've saved—we didn't _really_ save them, did we? Like me and Tucker. Then I realized—it was everyone else, too—because if they already _weren't_—they _would _have been. See?"

Hotch shook his head slowly. "What?" he asked.

Reid gritted his teeth, looking increasingly angry.

"Why didn't you kill Henry?" Hotch asked suddenly.

Reid shook his head slowly. "I couldn't finish," he whispered, as if he were terribly disappointed with himself. "It was…it was because of the laughing."

Hotch blinked, then shook his head. "Listen," he said, "_This isn't you. _I can save both of us.. If you walk out of here with me, right now…" He took another step forwards.

That's when Hotch caught sight of his arm.

"Reid," he said, shocked; this had been one thing he hadn't been expecting. "Are you high right now?"

Reid started, reaching for his arm to pull the sleeve back over the track marks.

Hotch raised his gun, knowing he had only seconds.

_Head shot,_ he thought to himself. _You have it. Right there. Kill him._

Suddenly, involuntarily, his finger froze on the trigger. And then Reid wasn't himself anymore; he changed somehow, morphing into something else before Hotch's eyes. He _wasn't_ the thirty year old man that had killed forty people in a week—he was the skinny, twenty year old kid that Hotch had beaten up in front of Phillip Dowd—he was the child who had watched his schizophrenic mother deteriorate before his very eyes—the young man that had been drugged by Tobias Hankel and tortured by Christopher Buchannan, who had been held hostage and shot at and stabbed and who maybe, _maybe _just had too much to take—

Hotch fired anyways.

The shot went wide.

Then Reid's head turned, and he was back. He was no longer each of these things; he was the _culmination_ of them. Hotch finally saw—it finally made _sense_. He opened his mouth to say so; but Reid spoke first.

"I'm sorry, Hotch," he said, with a smile that was half mocking, half sad. "We can't be saved."

A second later, everything was on fire.

Red—that was the only thing that Hotch could see. Everything was red, voices were shouting; what was that? Strange shapes were moving around him, blurring, changing…were there people there?

"He's back!" He heard a voice shout.

Back? Hotch hadn't been aware that he'd left. Where was Reid? He tried to open his eyes.

"Wh—wh—" Hotch tried to speak, but couldn't; he felt blood running from his mouth.

"Sir, we are the paramedics, we are here to help…"

Hotch took a deep breath, coughing up more blood. He opened his eyes; everything had changed. He wasn't in the same place as before; an unfamiliar face swam above him. He couldn't tell if it was real or a dream.

"I h-have to m-make _sure—" _Hotch sputtered.

"Sir, don't try to talk right now, we're going to help—"

"I have to make_ sure _he's dead!" Hotch gasped—however, at that moment, he felt the last of the air leave his lungs.

The face began to swim again, then became blurry. Shapes were twirling. He could hear laughter—where was Reid? Was he still laughing? He could barely hear the paramedic shouting, "He's flat-lining again…!"

Suddenly, everything turned bright white. He could still hear the laughter.

It became very dark. The voices disappeared, the laughter echoing and fading into oblivion.

Then it was silent.

And then there was nothing.

**THE END**


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